A Breach in the Wall
by Moon Goddess Queen
Summary: The wall between Harry's 2 worlds breaks down as secrets are revealed. We learn what motivates the Dursleys and why they are so set against magic. Eventually, they are drawn into Harry's fight against Voldemort. This story completes the Harry Potter saga.
1. Prologue: Between the Lines

These characters are J. K. Rowling's creation. My story is for personal enjoyment only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

This story was written pre _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ and is a spoiler for the first six books.

Thanks always to my quality _SugarQuill_ Beta Reader, PirateQueen.

Please, please review! I spent a lot of time writing this story and I would love to know what you think of it. Constructive criticism is especially welcome.

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_Buddhist saying: That while everything is flawed, "the crack is where the light comes through."_

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**A BREACH IN THE WALL**

_The arrival of the dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have caused a breach in the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond. Harry's two lives had somehow become fused and everything had been turned upside down . . . – OotP p 37 _

**PROLOGUE: Between the Lines**

(It is the night after Petunia received the Howler in _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_)

_"Ah, and this must be Petunia. . . . Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course." Harry thought this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not challenge the term. – HBP p 46 & 47_

_"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." –Dumbledore, CoS p 333_

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_"Remember my Last, Petunia!" _The words echoed, reverberating through her mind, punctuating her fierce strokes. She leaned forward, her elbows locked, putting her weight into it. Her back ached, but she did not relent. Dragging an arm across her forehead, she shoved sweaty hair out of her face, then reached over and repositioned the flashlight so that its oblique shine fell across the mark. Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. She blinked at the spot in recognition. Releasing the scrub brush, and tugging one rubber glove off, she slid a finger through the soapy water. The light had revealed that it was not a scuff mark, but a deep dent. 

It was not the first time she had set herself the impossible task of scrubbing out the scar left long ago by a tumbling highchair. She wiped her finger on her already spoiled nightgown and with the back of her hand smeared the tears away. She was not a stupid woman. She knew her incessant cleaning was more often than not an unconscious attempt to clean up the mess of her past, to undo what could not be undone, to forget what could not be forgotten. Petunia sat back on her heels, her soaked nightgown clinging to her stinging knees. _Remember? I wish I could forget. _But she couldn't. Not today, not ever.

That was not so in the beginning. Sometimes she actually believed that it was only a dream brought on by the probable envy she had felt when Lily received her letter and her parents had been so proud. However, there was only one time she had ever really wanted to be like Lily, and that was years later when she was much older. If she took the dream as reality, and not a trick of her imagination, then her letter had dropped through the mail slot into their small flat while everyone else was out buying her birthday cake. She had read the letter with incredulity, having already learned to deny anything that made her different. At a precociously young age she had figured out how to control her outbursts and emotions so that she would not cause trouble. And that was what she dearly wanted, for she understood very early on, that they had enough trouble.

Dad considered himself an entrepreneur, and only reluctantly took odd jobs when absolutely necessary. Mum was sickly and wasn't getting better. Petunia would hurry home from school to find her despondent, curled in a chair, the curtains pulled, and Dad off somewhere pursuing another opportunity. Cajoling her all the while, Petunia would let the light in, wash the breakfast dishes and set out a simple snack. Lily always walked home with friends and by the time she arrived, the house would be bright and Mum would have rallied enough to sit at the small kitchen table with them. When Lily thanked their mum for the snack, no-one ever corrected her.

It was a small deception, but Lily was a sensitive child with a sixth sense about people and their emotions and easily upset. So if they could spare her the worry and fear that Petunia felt, then it was worth it. She was always relieved that Mum seemed better when Lily was there, even if it was, perhaps, only an act. It was hard to tell for sure, everyone's spirits naturally brighten whenever Lily was around.

They moved often as their dad chased dreams, and wherever they lived, Petunia did her best to transform it into a typical home. While she did what she could, she dreamed of having a normal family, with a normal home, and the normal life of a child. It was all she ever wanted, to be normal, to fit in, and to be liked. Lily was outgoing and made friends easily in each new place. It took Petunia longer. Always though, Lily would eventually cause something to happen. Petunia would offer plausible explanations, but whispers would spread and inevitably her still tenuous friendships would be lost. It didn't really matter though, because, soon enough, they would move again.

And now this: A letter saying that she really was different in a way that she had never dreamed of. A letter offering her a chance for a real, though unusual, childhood. But, even if she wanted to, how could she? They didn't have any money and someone had to nurse mother, clean the house, and look after Dad and Lily. Besides, if she was different, which she doubted, Lily was much more so. It would be best to stay and let Lily go next year. Petunia threw Dumbledore's first letter into the bin.

But that was only the first letter. She had two others, and though she had not read them for over fourteen years, she had lived with their words every day. Now, as she changed her nightgown in the dark and slid between the crisp sheets, she felt a growing compulsion to read them again, to search between the lines, to ascertain that her reasoning and actions were justified. It wasn't like she had been given a choice. She had considered every chilling detail. Had meticulously run the frightful scenarios through her head and done what she had to do. And it had been the best she knew how. But was it good enough? She hadn't counted on how bitterness and hate would feed upon themselves, engorging till they had a life of their own. She hadn't even counted on the simple force of habit. _Would Lily forgive that? No. How could she? If Lily had treated Dudley the way she and Vernon had treated Harry . . . _Petunia shivered at the notion, pulling the sheet up tight under her chin.

_The box won't open anyway, _she thought._ I won't be able to read the letters. Not now, after all these years. _Moonlight slid unerringly across the neat, clean bedroom rendering shades of grey from the dark and transforming in its wake familiar objects into menacing monsters. Vernon snored, his mass sprawled against her rigid body. Petunia turned toward him, seeking the security she found in his bulk. Maybe if she focussed on the regular rhythm of his snoring. There was comfort in order and the ordinary. She had learned that minute details and the banal kept her busy, kept her mind from wandering and gave her a sense of control.

Vernon shifted in his sleep, rolling over with his back towards her. Petunia grasped the sheet with both fists and tugged hard, but it didn't budge. It was securely tucked beneath him, and its flimsy covering offered no sense of protection or hiding place anyway. If only it was that easy to shut out the world and bury her feelings. But the desire to justify herself only grew stronger. _If I'm going to try, it has to be before moon set. _With an aching sigh that lodged deep in her chest, she slipped back out of bed. Though it was a hot summer night, she wrapped a robe around her, hoping to ease her shivering. Quietly rummaging amongst her many storage boxes, she finally withdrew one from the very back of the closet, her hand shaking. For a moment, she stood frozen, listening to Vernon's loud, undisturbed snoring. Then, without a sound, she grasped the box to her breast and scurried down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Removing the lid from the shoe box, she pushed aside the tissue and lifted out a seamless metal box. In its top left hand corner was painted: _"To Petunia." _Diagonally across were the words: _"From Lily." _Between the loopy handwriting, Lily had painted cascading pink petunias. She had also painted the lunar phases around its sides. Though charmingly amateur now, Petunia had thought it most beautiful when Lily had given it to her as a birthday present. The box was sealed with a verbal charm that Lily had just learned to compose during her second year at Hogwarts. Petunia gingerly set it on the windowsill in a pool of moonlight. After all these years, after all that has happened, did she even dare speak the words? Her fingers trembled as she laid them gently on the names and mouthed the incantation.

"Th-th-the garden grows many a flower.

And though some admire the lily

I am happy to attest

that the petunia so cheery and friendly

is the flower I love best.

"Now witness my Petunia before you,

changing yet changeless Moon above

and see into her heart ..."

A lump rose in her throat. Dreading the next lines, she swallowed, screwed her eyes shut and haltingly continued.

"and j-j-judging her a sister of true love,

allow this lid from box to part."

Her voice cracked, her hands falling to her side. _This is stupid._ _It won't work. I know it won't. Why should it? _Moments slipped by before her resolve returned enough for her to tentatively replace her fingers.

"And may your opening confirm

that no matter how often we disagree

I promise now and forever

to love my Petunia through all eternity

with a love that can never waver."

For a moment nothing happened. Then she sensed a faint quivering and snatched her fingers away as if they were burning. From the tip of one of the slivered painted moons a seam emerged and encircled the metal rectangle.

"Oh Lily!" Petunia gasped, slipping to the floor, great choking sobs racking her body as she cradled the box. She had seen it open a thousand times in the past, . . . but now?"Oh Lily, oh Lily," she moaned in rasping breaths as she rocked back and forth.

Slowly, the tears subsided. Petunia dabbed at her face with a folded square of tissue. She stood up unsteadily, and then slumped down onto the toilet lid. _The charm had worked. Maybe, just maybe . . ._

Petunia gently tilted back the lid. One end of the soft pink velvet interior was stuffed with papers gathered into bundles and tied with ribbons. The other end held an array of small trinkets. Her fingers went immediately to a small vial that she stroked momentarily before turning her attention to the bundles. Most of the bundles were neat stacks of letters addressed in Lily's flowery hand and dating to the years Lily had attended Hogwarts. The top bundle, however, was comprised of wedding invitations, baby announcements, obituaries, news clippings, and some notes and letters, including two in a crisp, slanted, script. Petunia picked up the bundle and untied the old, frayed, hair ribbon. In her hand was the rationale for everything she had done in the past sixteen years. She fingered the top letter, Dumbledore's last letter, then set it aside on the sink's edge. Leafing back through the stack, she found a flower-bordered, pink envelope in Lily's hand, and carefully withdrew the parchment:

_My Dear Sweet Pet,_

_CONGRATULATIONS! WOW! I didn't even know you were seeing anyone special. And I thought we told each other everything. Shame on you for keeping Vernon a secret! You should have told us at Christmas, when I announced my engagement to James. You could have invited Vernon up and we would have had a double celebration._

_I am amazed at how closely our lives are mirrored. Another one of our coincidences? (I know you've finagled many of them. Mum told me how hard you worked for that scholarship after I did so well on my O.W.L.s. Marriage won't change your college plans, I hope. You'd make a great research botanist!) _

_Can you imagine how crazy everyone will be with our weddings so close together?! Too bad we can't have a double wedding. But since Vernon's friends, or perhaps I should say my friends, are from a different world, so to speak, that won't work. Luckily for Dad, we have received permission to have our wedding on the Hogwarts' grounds, down by the lake -- right where James proposed to me. Most of the arrangements will be magical and won't cost Dad anything -- which means you can plan the wedding you so deserve. When you come up next month to try on your bridesmaid dress, bring Vernon. We all want to meet him._

_So tell me everything! You mentioned to Mum that he was on the rugby team and is interested in pursuing politics after university. Have you known him long? I seem to recall you mentioning a bully at your school named Vernon. Is this the same person? Don't be embarrassed if it is. People change. Remember, I told you that James used to be an awful, pompous boy that got away with everything because he was popular and the seeker on our Quidditch team? Well, now he's my loving, adorable James._

_So my beloved sister, this may seem premature . . . but James and I have an immense favour to ask. We have decided that once we are married that we want to start a family right away. We have this nagging feeling of urgency. As you know, things are not as one might wish in our magical world. That wizard we were discussing at Christmas, and his force of like-minded, power-hungry followers, are gaining strength. There have been some really terrible incidences. Oh, sometimes I have the most horrible dreams . . . Anyway, we have asked Sirius if he would be the Godfather of any children we might have -- and we want you to be the Godmother. Please, please say yes! It would greatly put my heart at ease._

_Your loving sister,_

_Lily_

That odd, confused mixture of sisterly love and sibling rivalry that had been their relationship, and admittedly, caused more than a few rash actions and hurts washed over her. _Was that once my life? The same life-span I'm in now? _Petunia reluctantly folded the letter and gently placed it in the box. They had still been naive, hopeful and almost happy then.

Petunia chose another letter in Lily's hand. This one had been ripped and taped back together.

_Dear Pet,_

_Please . . ._

_You have every reason to be upset about what happened at your wedding, but you have to believe me -- it wasn't James! I have questioned him and the rest of our magical friends and they all swear they had nothing to do with it! As you know, there are serious repercussions if any of us do magic in the company of uninitiated Muggles, which, of course, there were plenty of at your wedding. _

_I understand why you and Vernon are reluctant to accept our word, after what happened to Vernon at James's bachelor party. You KNOW that when I heard about the prank and that Vernon and you had left and weren't coming back, I was so incensed with James that I almost called off the wedding. It broke my heart not to have you by my side. _

_This isn't an excuse, but they really only intended to poke fun, and I think it only got out of hand because they needed a release after our last bout with You-Know-Who! We have so many counter-jinxes and spells to fix things, that we sometimes forget how a Muggle, new to the idea of magic, might react. James says to tell Vernon that he, and the others, apologize again. He also personally promised me, on our love (and I truly believe him), that he will never, ever play his "pranks" on anyone again -- another reason I know he had nothing to do with what happened at your wedding. _

_Honestly, you have to admit, neither incident was really that bad. In a few years, you will look back on both episodes and laugh. Funny stories to tell your child!_

_Yeah, Mum told me. Don't be mad. I'm hurt, however, that I did not hear it from you. You beat me this time! But not by much. I'm due about a month after you._

_Please, please dear Sis, put this all behind us. I need you more than ever. You are the only sister I have or want. Sometimes I have this really terrible feeling of foreboding. Please, for the sake of your future Godchild and mine -- you haven't changed your mind about our pact, I hope. _

_Your loving sister, _

_Lily_

She had hated missing Lily and James's wedding, but couldn't do otherwise. It had taken pleadings, promises and threats for Vernon to finally agree to let her invite them and the others to their wedding. And then . . . what a fiasco.

Vernon had ripped the letter from her hand. He had been so incensed and humiliated both times. It didn't matter that she knew it wasn't James or Lily's fault. She couldn't tell Vernon the truth. Maybe she could have patched things up if there had been enough time. But with everything that was happening in both families -- Mum's sickness, Vernon's disgruntled job search, babies, the Wizard war and . . . she pushed the thought of him from her mind -- she had put it off. Then that awful, dreadful night came, when she was sure she and Dudley were dying. And to top it off, Harry appeared the very next night on their doorstep, clutching a letter in his small fist. A letter that destroyed her hopes and froze her heart. It was easy to find in the pile, all crumpled and tear-stained.

_Dear Mrs. Dursley,_

_It is with my deepest regret that I must inform you that your sister Lily is dead, as is James and your parents. This is your nephew, little Harry Potter. I humbly request that you take him into your heart and home and raise him as your own. I fear you are his only hope of survival. If you refuse, your family's sacrifice may be in vain. Please allow me to explain._

_As you are aware, there is a Wizard war going on. James and Lily had been fighting against a group of renegades led by a powerful wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort tried to kill Harry to fulfill or thwart a prophecy about a child born in the seventh month. James died protecting his family. With James out of the way, Voldemort aimed the killing curse at Harry. Lily, in desperation and love, called forth everything within her to save her child. The answering spell -- an ancient blood spell -- saved Harry by deflecting a large portion of Voldemort's spell back on himself, perhaps destroying him, and then dispersing the remainder of its effect to those bound to Lily by blood. Lily took the brunt of it, sacrificing herself. Harry, protected by Lily's love, survived. Your parents, being in the vicinity, also absorbed a great deal. They have been confirmed dead by Muggle authorities. _

_As Lily's only sibling, I assume you also undoubtedly felt a substantial amount of the spell as evidenced by any unexplained pain and anguish you might have felt the night before last. I want you to know that Lily did not choose to use this spell. It is not the type of spell that can be taught or used on command, but is called forth out of a deep, desperate love. She could not have known the toll it would take on your family. _

_Voldemort, whether dead or near death, has many followers that will continue to do his bidding and search for Harry. Lily's love, bound by the spell to her blood -- and hence your blood -- is Harry's only hope. As long as he finds refuge in the home where his mother's blood resides, he will be protected. With your parents dead, you are the only one left in a direct blood line. I have put additional charms and spells on the house. I suspect that the blood-bond may also work in reverse. Lily's love, Lily's blood in Harry's veins, may offer you a measure of protection._

_Of course, secrecy is of utmost importance. I have covered my trail well, but Voldemort has spies, so I strongly suggest you resist talking about this incident, Harry's parents, or magic in general. It would also be wise to cut any ties you have with the magical community. You can never tell who might be listening or who is untrustworthy. Harry will be best hidden as a completely ordinary boy._

_One additional piece of advice. Though I hope that you will love and raise Harry as your own, and though you may feel great empathy for him, he has already experienced more love than most of us ever will. I believe he will be best served by being raised with an emphasis on self-reliance and courage, and not by being pampered or shielded from everyday troubles. That Harry has survived is unheard of, and it is quite likely that destiny has a very difficult, even dangerous, and assuredly almost impossible task in store for him. Please do what you can to prepare him until he is ready to begin his studies at Hogwarts._

_I know that I am asking much of you, and your husband, so let me be clear: If you keep Harry, you will have entered into a pact to lend your protection until he becomes of age. If you do not agree, you are likely sealing his fate. _

_Yours truly,_

_Albus Dumbledore _

Even after all these years, Petunia's stomach twisted, and she gulped for breath as though she was drowning. Her hands involuntarily clenched as the memory of old rage flooded her. She doubted that if Lily had known the consequences, that she would have acted differently. Petunia knew enough about how magic worked, to know that at that moment, Lily hadn't cared about anyone but Harry -- not her, not Dudley, not their parents or any of their relatives.

And it had cost Petunia, changed the direction of her life more than anyone knew. She hadn't even been able to go to her families' funerals. Her entire extended family was lost to her -- many by death, the rest because she had been forced to cut off contact. Both sides of her parentage, especially the Evans clan, were littered with magic. It was a recessive gene, like red hair. They were proud of it, too, and not overly concerned about being discreet.

Petunia often wondered if the blood-bond, or blood "curse," as she called it, had affected any of her aunts, uncles or cousins, but never had the opportunity to ask. Of course, Vernon didn't think it any great loss, and even suggested that maybe one of them could take Harry, after she had adamantly refused to send him back. _Seal his fate? _she remembered thinking. _Send him back to them? What kind of people leave a baby alone on someone's doorstep anyway, especially when he is in danger? _

If Dumbledore had knocked on the door like anyone else would have, she could have told him no, but what could she do now? She had no choice. Besides, she wasn't doing it for Dumbledore or the Wizarding world, or even for Harry. Though she was estranged from Lily and therefore had not become Harry's Godmother, and even if she had, it was understood that if Harry inherited his parents' abilities, Sirius would be his primary caregiver, she could not put aside the fact that, at one time, she had made a promise to Lily. And no matter how bitter she felt, she understood somewhere deep inside that she would have done the same if Dudley was in danger.

Lily didn't have a choice, and neither did she. And, she pointed out to Vernon, Harry needn't cost them a lot. She read him the part where Dumbledore specifically said not to spoil him. What is done, is done, she argued . She prided herself on being practical . . . at least until a month later, when that awful owl came with its foreboding message.

Harry had been inconsolable, crying constantly those first few weeks. And when Harry cried, Dudley cried, and Petunia felt nauseated and weak. They had initially fixed up a sleeping area for Harry in Dudley's room. After a week of sleepless nights and trying days, they moved Harry into the spare room to see if that would help. Finally, after a particularly bad night that ended in a nasty fight with Vernon, she spent the entire next day on her hands and knees scrubbing out the closet cubbyhole under the stairs. If he still cried, they couldn't hear it. It seemed to be the best solution at the time.

That Saturday morning, though, they were enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet. Petunia was actually feeling a little better as she washed the dishes. Vernon was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper and finishing up his cup of coffee. Dudley was in his highchair making a mash of what was left of his scrambled eggs, toast, baked beans and diced tomatoes. Harry, under the table, was mauling a piece of toast – they couldn't afford two highchairs.

Suddenly, an owl flew in the window straight at Dudley. Dudley screamed and flung his plate at the huge bird. Vernon jumped up, swinging his newspaper at the owl and tripping over Harry, who had scooted out from under the table to see what was happening. It's hard to say who knocked over the highchair, but it went flying and Petunia caught Dudley just inches before he would have hit his head sharply on the hard floor.

After making sure that her screaming son was unhurt, she cooed softly to quiet him as she retrieved the brown envelope stuck to his filthy bib, and opened it with one-hand against the counter. Turning it upside down a piece of parchment and a small box slid out. She picked up the note and shook it open. The blood drained from her face. Far away, it seemed, she could hear Vernon cursing and chasing the owl out the window, then slamming it shut. Harry was laughing. It was the very first time that she had ever heard him laugh, and under the circumstances, it struck her as ominous.

Eventually, she grew aware that Vernon was yelling at her, his eyes glued on her stricken face. He was frantically asking if Dudley was hurt. _"He's fine . . . for now," _she finally managed to whisper. Clutching her son tight to her chest despite the coating of brown beans and crushed tomatoes, she handed Vernon the note and sank into a chair.

She now picked up the small, stained, brown envelope that still held the small box with her sister and James's wedding rings and the note. Petunia didn't bother to pull them out. She knew, by heart, every word the owl had delivered.

_Two sisters' sons raised side by side_

_in separate worlds, but by blood tied _

_The first born must choose to stay away_

_or be true to blood, and enter the fray_

_But be forewarned, once he crosses into fire_

_he can attain his heart's desire_

_Or it can cost him nothing less_

_than everything he does possess_

_Beware it is what he does lack_

_that may prevent his coming back._

Vernon had raged. He raged at the owl "who tried to kill his son." He raged at Harry. He raged at magic. He raged at her. Petunia had never revealed the entire contents of the letters, especially Dumbledore's. She had simply paraphrased selected details. But as Vernon raged, she perceived dawning comprehension in his face. He had already acquired a dislike of, and anger toward, magic. Harry was a burden, a bother, an annoyance. Now, though, there was a palpable shift. His family -- his son -- was in danger, and he was powerless to protect them. Hate and fear took root. Petunia felt her insides lurch.

The following Monday morning, at Vernon's insistence, Petunia posted a letter to Dumbledore along with a copy of the owl's note. The letter demanded that Harry be removed immediately. But that wasn't all it contained. Petunia had concerns other than Harry on her mind. She had spent all weekend going over everything in her head, putting the pieces of the puzzle together into a fearful, ever more alarming picture.

Petunia picked the letter up off of the sink. It was Dumbledore's reply, his last letter.

_Dear Mrs. Dursley,_

_I found your recent letter most distressing in all respects. I caution you not to make any rash decisions. Had I known on that tragic night that you were estranged from Lily and that Mr. Dursley held such bitter anger toward the Potters, I would have found another solution, even if it wasn't as safe for Harry. I question why you agreed to take him, particularly after the severe reactions you and your son experienced. But now, I'm afraid it is too late to make new arrangements without putting everyone involved in immediate danger (especially considering everything you've just written to me). I am resigned to the possibility that little Harry may not be destined for happiness. That he is well and safe may be all that we can hope for. _

_It pains me to hear that with two small boys in the house, you and your husband have been unable to afford your education and career aspirations. I was not privy to the terms of your parents' or sister's Will, but I'm sure if you were a beneficiary, you would have been contacted by now. I regret that we are unable to offer any financial aid without drawing suspicion from both the magical world and from your own government. As I wrote previously, it is best that you keep a low profile and our contact to a minimum until Harry begins school with us. _

_I want to mention that the funerals were really lovely. I am sorry that you could not attend. I know how much your family meant to you. Though it will be too little, too late, after Harry is at Hogwarts, I could share my memory of the funerals with you if you like. _

_Concerning the owl and its package: I fully appreciate your hysterics. Additionally, I am extremely disturbed that you received an owl without my knowledge and from an unknown source obviously aware of the situation. Your photocopy of the note, along with the description of your son's illness at the time of Voldemort's attack, totally surprised me -- as did your description of the changes you felt. However, they lead me to only one conclusion: The blood-bond is much stronger than even I suspected. I never considered that, as diluted as it is in your son, that he would have felt anything. Had I known, I again might have chosen differently. I am ashamed of my dereliction. I should have considered all possibilities no matter how remote. That much I owed you. Please forgive my ignorance and what it has cost -- is costing -- you and your family. _

_The note is a complete mystery. You say that you do not know who sent it, but that you recognize the rings as definitely belonging to James and Lily. What concerns me most is that few people would have had access to their rings after they were murdered. If anything else happens, or if there is additional contact or suspicious behavior, please alert me right away. It is of the utmost importance. As to the note itself, I checked with the Department of Mysteries and was informed that they do not keep track of prophecies concerning non-magical persons -- a grave oversight in my opinion. As to its interpretation, I can only confirm your worst fears._

_Now to the last matter you mentioned: I pray that you reconsider. I believe that Mr. Dursley should have a say in this, despite what you've told me of his attitude. I do not know what effect, if any, the blood spell would have had on the child you are carrying. I am concerned, though, that you feel something is different. Considering how Dudley reacted, it is quite possible that the fetus was affected. As you also surmise, it is possible that your baby will be magical, as it does_ _run in your family, as you well know. I caution that there is no way to be sure on any of this at this stage. However, as I am indebted to you, and believe fervently in mother's intuition, I am taking your request seriously. _

_I have spoken to a fine, upstanding, childless couple who are willing to provide a secure, loving and gentle home for your child. They have agreed to take -- in fact, have already taken -- a concoction of potions that our excellent potions professor has formulated. One potion feigns a pregnancy so that even the midwife will not be able to tell the difference. Another is a veracity-altering charm, so that they, themselves, now believe the pregnancy is real. If they end up with your baby, they will know no other truth than that the child is theirs. The depth of the couple's sacrifice, generosity, and ability to love is such that, before taking the potion, they were made aware that if you change your mind -- and they understand that I am urging you to do so -- they will think that they have lost their first and only child in childbirth. I did assure them, that if that were the case, I would reveal the truth to them as soon as I deemed it safe to do so. As they have Squibs on both sides of the family, they_ _are completely unconcerned that the child may be non-magical._

_But let me repeat myself: PETUNIA DURSLEY, ARE YOU SURE? Losing a child under any circumstance is very traumatic. I assume you have given careful consideration to the effect this will have on you and your husband. It is possible that it will be far worse than your assumption about raising magical offspring could ever be. Humans have a great capacity for love, and if given the opportunity to change, often do. I beseech you to give Mr. Dursley this opportunity. But if you are determined, I have included a vial containing a draught that you should take when you begin labor. NOTE: DRINK THE ENTIRE CONTENTS AS THERE IS A RETURN RECEIPT CHARM ATTACHED TO THE VIAL WHEN EMPTIED WHICH WILL INFORM ME OF YOUR INTENTIONS SO THAT I CAN PROCEED ACCORDINGLY. _

_After drinking the potion, your baby will be born silent, and to all appearances, breathless. Your doctors will attempt to revive the child. This will be your last chance to change your mind! If you wish to keep your baby simply call out to it, and the spell will be broken. But if you remain silent, your baby will feign death, be processed, and a trusted party will take it from there with no one but us three, the wiser. I assure you that your baby will not be in discomfort or danger at any time._

_Again, I urge you to reconsider. Magical or not, your child should be safe with you as long as you abide by my earlier instructions. As previously discussed, the ancient blood spell that Lily used to save Harry created a very strong blood-bond that flows through his veins, your veins, and apparently those of your children. I have a feeling that blood-bond will draw them together despite our best efforts. Your sacrifice may be for naught, and your decision may haunt you in ways that you cannot possibly foresee. Please, please reconsider. This is not a path you have to choose._

_We are constructing a precarious "house of cards" in this ever-complicated game of secrecy and deceit. Though a reluctant player, I laid the foundation when I asked you to take Harry. Now we must place each card with a careful, steady hand if we hope to succeed. The winds of time are against us. If the foundation is not sound, all will crumble. _

_Always at your service,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Petunia sat deadly still, the pain of the silence echoing forth from that fateful day to this moment. The tears were gone, long since cried. Dumbledore was right. Though she had feared the direction Vernon's rage was taking him, something more essential was lost when he held their "stillborn" daughter. It was as if he had taken his general faith in the goodness of the world and had squeezed it into some small, hidden-away container. She understood completely. Reaching into the box, she held the vial up to the light. She often felt that she had exchanged a portion of her own soul with its original contents, and that's why she had such a feeling of emptiness deep inside. Or perhaps they had both buried a portion of their soul in the small coffin that she knew was otherwise empty. She would never forgive herself for what she had done to Vernon. She, at least, knew the truth, and could furtively search the faces on the platform at King's Cross when leaving or picking up Harry.

Petunia sat there rocking slightly, cradling the vial in her palm, the words covering her lap. How long she remained, she did not know. She was startled by a rap on the door.

"Mummy? I need to use the loo."

"Okay Diddly, just a minute."

She flushed, using the noise to cover any sound as she quickly stuffed everything back in the box and closed the lid. She splashed some water onto her streaked face, and roughly scrubbed it, while she waited for the seam to disappear. Then, pushing the tissue aside, she gently dropped it in the shoe box. She grabbed another towel off of the door and wrapped it around the box. She glanced in the mirror to see if it looked like a bundle of dirty towels and caught her breath with the semblance it had to a swathed child. With a sigh, she opened the door.

"There you go, Diddlekums. These are dirty. I'll be right back with a fresh towel." He was so big now, but still so vulnerable. She and Vernon showered him with all they knew to give. _What was it that he could possibly still lack? _Dudley frowned as she searched his eyes."Are you feeling any better?"

"Not really. I still feel terribly cold and I have an awful headache and can't sleep," Dudley moaned. She lightly felt his forehead, but resisted the urge to draw him close. "Is there any chocolate left? " he mumbled.

She dropped her hand. "You ate it all. Did it really help? I might have some baker's chocolate up in the cabinet. You won't like it as much. And I think I have something that should help you sleep. I'll bring them up. You should be fine by morning."

"Okay, Mum," Dudley yawned.

With the box and Dudley safely back where they each belonged, Petunia curled beside Vernon and listened to his snoring. No one had any right to fault him. It seemed inconceivable to her now that she had betrayed his trust. And yet she had. She had asked a lot of him. More than he knew. More than she would ever confess. _It is only natural for a man to fear what he cannot understand or protect his loved ones from. He's a good man, _she thought_. We're well liked by our friends, and he's respected by his colleagues -- even without a college degree. And Dudley . . . he simply mirrors what he observes. That's what children do. _She could, and would if necessary, defend them both. But could she defend herself? _I keep a clean house and a respectable garden. The neighbors never have cause to complain, or take undue note of us even with Harry's . . . I keep a keen eye out for anything strange or unusual. It's been hard but we've made it thus far. I've been stern, there's no room for mistakes, but I don't think of myself as mean and hard-hearted._

_But I am, aren't I? At least to Harry. _She had gone to the past for answers. She had read the letters, dug at the roots of the bitterness that had become her constant companion and she did not like what she had uncovered. She could defend her reasoning. It was all right there in the letters: An explanation . . . but not a justification. She had told herself she was doing what was best for her family, but she realized now that her choices had been ruled by fear and guilt and not by love, and most certainly not out of love for herself or for Harry. The hollowness inside expanded to swallow her. She felt trapped by circumstances, by the past, by emotions beyond her control, and by her inability to believe that she could affect change. Or that even if she did, that it would atone for anything.


	2. Dudley Deepest Desire

I'm really sorry for the delay, especially since this story is already written and I am only reviewing the chapters and making slight changes before posting them here. Real life interfered. I was on deadline for work and my husband was in the hospital this past week. Enough excuses.

Thanks for the reviews and please continue to review.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Dudley's Deepest Desire**

(begins as _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _ends)

_Aunt Petunia looked both frightened and embarrassed. She kept glancing around, as though terrified somebody she knew would see her in such company. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to be trying to look small and insignificant, a feat at which he was failing extravagantly. – OotP p 868 _

_"The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you." – Dumbledore, HBP p 55_

* * *

Petunia gaped in horror as the group approached, anxiously wanting to flee. _What could they want? _After Dumbledore's howler, she no longer knew what to expect. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Usually, it was like there was an invisible wall that separated the two worlds. Usually, they simply waited near the entrance, detached and disinterested, until Harry said his goodbyes and was ready to go. Only then did they acknowledge his existence with anything more than an occasional, impatient scowl in his direction. And only then did Harry acknowledge them. But today, at King's Cross, he was heading straight toward them, accompanied by a posse of ten, including two young girls.

_Is one of them, her? Has Dumbledore betrayed me? Am I about to be exposed? Here? Now? Would they be so insensitive as to confront me, without warning, in public, with no chance to prepare Vernon or Dudley? _The thought of Vernon's reaction terrified her. Wishing she could disappear, she glanced around, but there was no escape. So instead, she furtively studied the girls. One of them had red hair -- a different shade than Lily's, but not that different. _Is that her? _Longing, resolution, and a vague sense of relief churned beneath the fear that swept over her. But no, Petunia realized that all six of the redheads in the group looked alike. And the other girl had been greeted by a couple that she resembled, so it wasn't her either.

_Were Dumbledore and her daughter waiting nearby then? _She quickly searched the surrounding faces for any familiarity.

* * *

Dudley slouched and stuck his hands in his pockets, quickly adopting the practiced look of many fifteen-year-olds. A look that stated, 'these embarrassing people can't possibly be with me, and if they are, then I'm not really here.' It came quite naturally and seemed to work. While attention was focused on his dad, his mum beside him looking terrified and trapped, Dudley edged backwards toward a pillar. Trying to look totally disinterested, he removed a sweet from his pocket, unwrapped it and stuffed it in his mouth. On the pretense of throwing the wrapper in the rubbish bin -- which he purposely missed -- he slipped around the pillar, leaving his parents to deal with any unpleasantries. They wouldn't mind. They treated him like a child that needed protecting from every little thing anyway.

He had felt the fear for as long as he could remember. A stifling fear that prevented him from trying new things. _Afraid that I can't manage even the simplest things on my own. Afraid that I'm incapable, inadequate, not good enough, stupid! _He thought about that joke where turkeys drowned in a rainstorm: too dumb to close their beaks when looking up to see where the rain came from. That's how they made him feel. So Dudley bullied others to prove that he could take care of himself -- at least to himself, if not to his parents, who remained naively oblivious.

With all the underlying belittling fear, and simpering pampering he experienced, Dudley would have thought they would show some interest in, or inkling of, his real life. But, it was Harry who garnered all their attention. Oh of course, they doted on Dudley, offering praise and compliments, especially when Harry was there to see, but in reality, they were much too busy watching, worrying and complaining about every little thing Harry did, to do much more than buy Dudley off with sweets and gifts. Dudley had to admit being glossed over in this manner had its advantages. He got everything he wanted. He got away with everything. Still, it hurt to know their actions were motivated more out of hate for Harry than regard for their own son.

_Someday I'll prove to them that I deserve some respect. Then they'll stop treating me like a pampered puppy. 'Good Boy, here's another biscuit and a squeaky toy. Now go and play so that we can get back to our unceasing Harry this and Harry that . . .'_

Not that he ever wanted to be treated like Harry. No, he feared how completely they could withhold their love.

Before he found out that Harry was a wizard, he had no idea what Harry had done to deserve their wrath, but was thankful that he had somehow avoided the same fate. Still, there were times when he was envious. At least they always treated Harry like he should, _and could_, take care of himself. Non of that sickening, 'poor little Diddykins! Did you get a booboo today?' that he endured even now, after one of his boxing matches. How embarrassing! How demeaning! He hated it. He was sick and tired of being treated like a baby. _I'm not a child anymore! I can do things on my own. I'm not as stupid as everyone thinks. I'm sick of being, 'the Dud!' _

Dudley tilted his head back against the pillar and frowned at the ceiling. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes and squeezed them shut to stop it. _Look Mum, I'm drowning_. Smirking slightly at his own joke, Dudley noticed how cool the tiles felt against his back. Cool and reassuring. More than he could say about his parents. They never made him feel reassured or self-assured about anything. Well, at least he could _act_ cool. _Duh!_

_Damn Dementors! _He didn't feel cool. He felt depressed. _Damn Dementors! Damn Dementors! _It had become his internal rant. He resumed his slouch, wishing he had a fag. Not that he could smoke it with Mum and Dad around. Instead he chewed at a ragged fingernail. At the sound of laughter he lifted his gaze. A group of girls was giggling and shyly glancing his way. _Maybe,_ he thought ironically, _I should thank those damn dementors. _

He had been sick after the dementors' attack; couldn't keep much of anything down for most of last summer. By the time he returned to school, he had lost some weight. His coach decided he'd be more successful in the middleweight class, instead of heavyweight, plus that's where the boxing team was weakest, so Coach put him on a strict diet. Since he had lost much of his appetite, anyway, Dudley didn't mind. He was still hefty, "brawny" as Dad called it, but more muscled than he had ever been. And girls seemed to find attractive his new sullen, brooding attitude. _"Something different in the eyes," _he had overheard one whisper as he had sauntered past a gaggle of girls after winning one of his bouts last spring.

He had only recently begun testing his new found popularity and under normal circumstances, he would have made eye contact, smiled and hoped for the best. But these weren't normal girls and he didn't want anything to do with them. He was about to return nonchalantly to his fingernail when another of the girls glanced his way. Dudley caught his breath as their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Then she turned away, unaware of her effect on him. Dudley's mouth dropped open. Frozen, he continued gazing after her. He had never seen anyone so beautiful.

"I've heard a rumor there's a mirror at our school that reflects not your face, but your heart's desire."

Dudley jumped at the unexpected voice beside him. "Huh?" he mumbled as he reluctantly twisted his head toward a girl with large protruding eyes and stringy blond hair.

"I was just saying there's a mirror . . . but you obviously don't need it."

"Get lost," Dudley snapped, returning his attention to the lovely vision on the far side of the platform. But the girl continued to study him with certain fascination, much as if he were an unknown object that she was trying to make sense of. After a few moments, Dudley could no longer ignore her annoying presence. He turned so that he was towering over her, a mean, intimidating smirk on his face. He leaned in until he was only inches from her and snarled, "Scram, you're too ugly to stand near me."

The girl looked up at him with her large, misty, slightly familiar eyes. Dudley suddenly imagined himself as a bug held aloft, looking back at the enlarged eyes of his examiner through a magnifying glass. A satisfied smile played across her lips. "I find it doesn't work," she said, tilting her head to one side.

"Huh?" Dudley grunted, surprised by her friendly reaction and perturbed that she hadn't taken offense or backed down.

"Trying to make oneself feel better by making someone else feel worse. I never tried it myself, but I've watched others. Is it because of the dementors? I know it's been a while, but are you still feeling bad from the attack?"

"WHAT!?" Dudley involuntarily shrank back, his face pale with horror.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess it's not polite to bring them up. They are a really unpleasant experience, aren't they? But, I'm curious, if you don't mind. I overheard some kids saying that Muggles couldn't see dementors, and if they couldn't see them, they wouldn't believe in them. But I think they're mistaken. I believe in lots of things I can't see. And I think Muggles do to. Or perhaps, you're a special Muggle and actually saw them? After all, you are Harry's cousin, aren't you? I saw you with him just now. My dad wrote about you and your encounter with the dementors in his newspaper, _The Quibbler._"

"Why'd he write about me? I didn't do anything," Dudley mumbled. And then louder, "Get lost, will ya?" After a moment, and for no reason that he could name, Dudley gruffly added, "Please."

The girl tilted her head quizzically in the other direction and Dudley had an odd sense of vertigo. He thought for a moment that her eyes might roll off her face. When he regained his equilibrium, she was speaking in an amazed tone. "You're really quite modest. I didn't expect that. I know Harry drove them off with his Patronus, but you _survived_ the attack. I've heard that some wizards have gone crazy after their encounter."

Dudley felt uncomfortable and shifted his feet. He wasn't used to anyone talking to him like this and wasn't sure how to respond. To hide his embarrassment he returned his attention to the girl who was laughing with her friends. It was a wonderful, musical, lilting laugh.

"I know her name."

"Who?"

"Her. Your deepest desire. She's very pretty, isn't she? She's in Hufflepuff and she's actually very nice . . . even to me." Dudley searched for a biting retort, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness, but there was no hint of self-pity in her voice as she continued. "Do you want to know her name?"

Dudley sucked in his breath. The exquisite beauty was walking away. "No!" he exclaimed, emphatically louder than necessary. Under his breath, in an almost inaudible whisper he added, "some dumb, silly witch isn't my deepest desire."

"No, of course not." She looked at him, a strange smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as though she was trying not to laugh. After a moment she shrugged her small shoulders and asked, "So why don't you want to know her name? From what I've seen at school, you're her type. She'd probably like you. You seem very nice. Is it because she's a witch? You know we're not that different. You're practically one of us."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, you are _a little _different from us. I mean you're not a wizard, but, you are Harry's cousin and all."

Dudley puffed himself up and snarled, " We _ain't_ anything alike! You're one of _them_. I can't even stand to know that you exist. How can you think I'm anything like you?"

"Because, you are. We all are."

"I don't even know you. We have nothing in common."

Her eyes held steady for once, but their dreamy focus was behind the surface of his face. Again he felt strangely unbalanced and vulnerable. "Are you sure?" she said, smiling.

"Damn . . ."

"Dementors?" She softly inserted.

Dudley stared at her. "YOU'RE . . .YOU'RE CRAZY!"

"Actually 'loony' is the word you want. That's what they call me at school. But let's not talk about me.

"Huh?"

"You know, you can be whoever you want to be. You're capable. It's your choice. My dad says that no one is the sum total of their history. That one can always choose a new tomorrow. . . . Oh, I almost forgot. It's here somewhere . . . the reason I came over in the first place." The girl rummaged through her pockets. "Harry looked kind of busy. . . . Here it is."

Dudley watched stunned as the girl pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket, and opened it to reveal a half-eaten chocolate frog with one leg still twitching. She popped the frog into her mouth, then smoothed the paper as best she could against the pillar. Folding the wrinkled paper into quarters, she held it out toward Dudley. "Will you please give this to Harry for me?" she mumbled around the chocolate frog.

"No, no I can't!" Dudley jumped back as if she was offering him a poisonous snake.

"Please, it's important." Then as if suddenly understanding his alarm she added, "It's not magical. It won't hurt you. I'd never intentionally hurt you. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone unless I had to. I think I feel that way because, like I just said, we're all connected. One big spider web, you know."

"I – I don't understand what you're talking about," Dudley stammered while backing away. "And –and I'm really sorry, but I can't. You see, Harry and I . . ."

The girl, following him around the pillar, was still holding the folded piece of paper out toward him, but her eyes were seeing beyond him and Dudley realized that she was no longer listening.

Distractedly she murmured, "Oh, okay. Never mind. Is that your mum and dad? I would like to meet them. I suppose I'll just give the note to Harry myself . Or maybe I could get my dad to bring me by your house later for a visit. I'm sure he would love to interview you all.

A shiver of fear sped down Dudley's spine. His parents would be outraged if they found out he had, even inadvertently, "invited" this strange girl over. He grabbed the note. "I'll give it to Harry. No need for you to come by." And with that he stuffed the note in his shirt pocket and pivoted so quickly that he banged his knee on the rubbish bin.

He was just a few short steps behind his parents. His face matched theirs, twisted with fear and horror. Dazed, he barely heard as the one with the weird eye said, "So, Potter . . . give us a shout if you need us. If we don't hear from you for three days in a row, we'll send someone along . . ."

His mum whimpered, but he was too stricken to follow the rest of Harry's goodbyes. Finally, Harry smiled, raised his hand, and mercifully led them out of the station and onto the sunlit street.


	3. Death Dreams

Please, please continue reviewing.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Death Dreams**

_He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination. – Vernon, SS p 5_

_Dementors caused a person to relive the worst moments of their life. . . . What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear? – Harry, OotP p 30_

* * *

Dudley fished the wad of paper out of the bin for maybe the twentieth time. He had thrown the note away as soon as he got home from the station, not even wanting to touch it. He had no intention of giving it to Harry. He wouldn't have anyway, but especially not now. Firstly, Harry had secluded himself in his room upon arriving home, so Dudley hadn't even seen him. There was evidence that he came out when they were gone, and they heard him prowling the kitchen after they were in bed. Occasionally, when Dudley suddenly turned his music off, he would hear restless steps on the other side of the wall. He sometimes heard the same incessant pacing late at night. In fact, he could hear him right now. But mainly there was an eerie quiet that forbade interruption. Second, his parents repeated, at every opportunity -- over the dinner table at night in anguished whispers, out in the car with loud indignation -- everything that had transpired at the station. All in all, it seemed best that Harry was avoiding them, and that they avoid Harry. 

But over the past few days, Dudley had gingerly picked the note out of the rubbish numerous times, turned it over and around on his desk, before tossing it back into the bin. Finally, late last night, curiosity overcame fear, and he unfolded the sheet and read it. Puzzled, he left it spread on his desk while he slept. But his dreams were strange and unsettling. Awakened from them early, Dudley immediately crumpled the note and threw it back in the bin, swearing he was finished with it. Yet here he was again, in the middle of the night, smoothing out the wrinkles in the pool of light on his desk, and reading it for a second time.

_Dear Harry,_

_Concerning what we were talking about: It's like a passageway to another place. The veil in the room proves it. We both heard them. _

_I think Sirius could contact you, or maybe even come back, if he really wanted to. But you have to understand he may not want to. I know you're wondering, 'Why wouldn't he want to?'_

_Well, something once (or twice?) happened to me. I'm not sure when, because I can remember all the way back to when I was a toddler. I once asked my mum and my dad, if anything had happened even earlier, and they said "no." Maybe it's from a past life or something like that. Anyway, what I remember is this: I didn't want to come back. In my case though, something or someone MADE me come back anyway. _

_Your friend,_

_Luna_

The nightmare that Dudley had just awoke from, was the same as last night's. This girl Luna and the beauty from King's Cross were shooting fireworks from their wands fighting a losing battle. He had a choice to make. He could run away to safety, or he could stay and help. He knew they had no chance. He was afraid. Someone was screaming. He realized it was him. Then without knowing exactly how, he was fighting, punching, a right hook to the jaw and then another. Green flash and shattering pain and he was punching . . . nothing, his fists sailing through the air as he fell into a thick, inky substance, like black oil. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank. Deeper, deeper, his lungs burning for breath, until he was too tired . . . far too tired.

Giving up, he effortlessly rose to the surface. There, he floated, peaceful, suspended on the blackness beneath him. Above, lights shone brighter and more beautiful than the Hubble telescope photos of star clusters he'd seen on the telly. He focused on one and felt an overwhelming love beyond anything that he could put into words. It felt like homecoming. A place where he belonged. He was just starting to rise toward it, when he was grabbed from beneath and jerked back into the thick, suffocating blackness. Gasping for air, he had awakened, drenched with sweat, his face buried in his wet pillow and the tangled sheet wrapped around him.

The dream had a feeling both of premonition and memory. He was pretty sure, though he couldn't say why, that this dream and the note were both about dying. If so, someone close to Harry, named Sirius, had died. And the weird girl was Luna. Too bad he'd rejected getting the other girl's name. He really did want to know it. He'd tried out many names on the face he saw when he closed his eyes, but none seemed to fit.

On impulse, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pencil and a sheet of notebook paper. He started sketching the face as he remembered it. He was surprised at how well he was able to capture her. This was something he hadn't done since . . . The memory suddenly flashed clear. He was in kindergarten. Every day they had an art session: Finger painting, crayon drawings, cutting and pasting -- that sort of thing. The other kids, including Harry, took their work home each day, but his teacher had asked to keep his. She told him they were very good and she wanted to show them to someone. A few weeks later she handed him a manila folder with all his artwork inside, along with a letter for his parents. Mum read the letter, hugged him and told him what a talented artist he was. Then she covered the refrigerator with his drawings.

But Dad's reaction when he got home from work was different. Though Dudley had not previously recalled the incident, he could now hear each painful word. "His teacher says here that they're _extraordinary_ for his age. _Unusual_. That's _YOUR_ side of the family showing up. I don't want him to have anything to do with it! It will draw attention! Make him stand out! _It's not safe! _Besides, I won't have some arty little pansy for a son!" He then ripped the paintings from the fridge, and crumpled them in his huge fist. His other hand landed hard on Dudley's small shoulder and squeezed until it started to hurt. "Look at me, Dudley!" he growled.

Dudley remembered tears streaking down his own face as he gazed up into his father's red face, feeling afraid of him for perhaps the first time. "Dudley, I want you to really, really listen to me: Stick with facts. Imagination, doing things like this," Vernon waved the fist of papers in the air, "will make you different. And being different is a bad thing. It will make you unhappy. It will hurt you. People won't like you. Harry's different and we don't like him. You don't want to be like Harry, do you? Stick with facts and what's real. _That's what I want my little boy to do if he loves me and if he wants me to love him. _You hear?" With that, he dropped the crumpled drawings in the rubbish. After that, Dudley sat quietly during art class, refusing to participate. When the teacher cajoled and pestered him, he would scribble on the page or copy the stick figures of the child next to him.

No wonder he kept hearing Loony Luna's words in his head. She had called him capable. Had said he could choose who or what he wanted to be. He looked at the likeness before him. It was good. Had he let his father choose for him when he was only five? Had he exchanged his talents for love and acceptance? Had he traded away who he was, who he might become, his very soul when he was too young to realize it? He knew that he was reluctant to try new things. That he had never even attempted to do his best at anything, except boxing. Had he stopped trying, stopped excelling, out of fear of rejection? Was this why they had to praise him simply for breathing as if that were some sort of accomplishment? Why he was always angry, why he felt empty inside? Why they were afraid for him? Why he had that strange, indistinct memory and weird dream of dying? The only thing he knew he was good at was fighting. After all, he'd practiced plenty on Harry over the years. But it wasn't something that made him happy. Boxing flowed from other, much darker, emotions.

Dudley heard Harry stumble past his door on his way to the loo. He quickly stuffed the sketch in his desk and returned his attention to the note. Dudley wasn't inclined to feel sorry for Harry, but he did feel something. Fascination, perhaps. Morbid fascination. He hadn't told anyone this other than his mum when he was a very young child, but these latest nightmares were not the first he'd ever had about dying. He had them regularly, especially around Halloween. But they had become worse since the dementors' attack. It was this terrible feeling of anguished death, of pain beyond imagining that was the memory that the dementors had awakened. What was this memory about? What were his dreams about? What did this note mean? What had happened? Was there a connection? Did Harry know anything about it? If Dudley wanted to know, he'd have to do the unthinkable. He'd have to talk to Harry.

It wasn't really that he hated Harry; despised, detested, maybe, but not hate. He had learned early on that being mean to Harry won his parents' approval, especially his dad's, though he hadn't comprehended why at the time. And it brought Dudley attention and a feeling of superiority and belonging. At such times it was always 'us' against 'him.' Harry was a good scapegoat. An acceptable way to release the uncontrollable temper that was always rising within him. Soon, it was something of a habit, plus it served to quell the uneasy feelings of fear that surrounded him. And, after Harry started wizard school, it was a way of courting danger, of facing down death. Still, it hadn't gone unnoticed, even to Dudley, that the puny little kid that often caused strange things to happen, his own pratty cousin that used to run from him, had grown up into a teen that Dudley and his parents now openly feared.

_It's me I hate. I hate myself. _Dudley heard the loo flush. _Maybe Harry knows something, or maybe he is the cause of my strange dreams. Maybe there's some other connection. Would he tell me even if he knew? There's no reason why he should, still maybe I can learn something useful. Too bad I can't beat it out of him. _Without thinking further, Dudley grabbed the note and darted into the hall, blocking Harry's path. Harry had his head down in the dark and almost stumbled into him. Jumping back, Harry's hand instinctively swept the air beside him for a wand that wasn't there. Dudley also took a step back, but just one.

"Leave me alone. I'm not in the mood for any of your games," Harry hissed.

"Quiet or you'll wake Mum. I thought you'd like to know I met one of your friends at King's Cross. Loony Luna."

"Luna? What? When? If you insulted or bullied her I'll . . ." Harry's hand again drifted toward his side.

"Don't be such a twat!" Dudley snapped. "She's one of you. Why don't you ask if she put a spell on me? We actually had a nice talk. Ask her. Here, she wanted me to give you this." Dudley handed Harry the note.

Harry reached for the paper while considering the spell idea. Dudley talking to Luna? Dudley giving him something, even if it _was_ for him? He had to admit this wasn't usual Dudley behavior. Harry turned the note to catch the light streaming through Dudley's open door.

"Who's Sirius?"

Harry, concentrating on making out the scrawled handwriting in the dim light, answered automatically. "My Godfather."

"How'd he die? What's this veil thing?"

Comprehension and anger crossed Harry's face. "How dare you read my letter!"

"So, tell your little girlfriend to be careful who she passes notes to," Dudley sneered, standing his ground. "Shouldn't you be thanking me for giving it to you?" Now _that_ sounded more like Dudley.

Dudley studied Harry's face as he finished the letter and folded it into a little square. Harry somehow looked very vulnerable and sad in the deep shadows of the hall.

Harry, sensing that he was revealing himself to an enemy, lifted his gaze to stare directly into Dudley's eyes. Dudley held steady, looking intently at Harry in the dim light. Harry was about to say something snide, but stopped. There was something different about Dudley's eyes.

After a moment, Dudley stepped aside into his doorway. As Harry passed, Dudley mumbled, "That girl Luna, there's something about her. She's weird. But then, you're all weirdos. But Luna, she's . . . she's nice."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Dudley, who quickly ducked into his room and closed the door. Miracles do happen. There in the dark hall, in the middle of the night, they actually agreed on something.

Dudley had talked with Luna, and then given him the note from her. Harry's friends had told Vernon not to mistreat him and had promised to contact him every three days. If these were any indication, it was going to be a very unusual summer.


	4. A Less Pretentious Lily

Thank you for your reviews and please keep reviewing!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**A Less Pretentious Lily**

_Except for one outburst years ago, in the course of which Aunt Petunia had screamed that Harry's mother had been a freak, he had never heard her mention her sister. – Harry, OotP p 32_

_. . . for the very first time in his life, Harry fully appreciated that Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister. – Harry, OotP p38_

* * *

Harry was awakened the next morning by a rap on his door -- well, in truth, it was early afternoon.

"What?" Harry groaned sleepily.

"Get up! I need you to dig a new garden bed." Aunt Petunia's muffled voice came through the door.

"Leave me alone. You heard what my friends said," grumbled Harry.

"Go ahead and tell them. I don't think they meant for you to stay here all summer without doing the slightest thing to help out. Meet me in the garden." Harry heard her scurry down the hall avoiding whatever he might have answered back.

Harry figured Aunt Petunia was probably right. He didn't think his friends would be supportive of the way he had locked himself in his room for three days. Grief they understood. Self-pity was something else. Harry pulled on his jeans and went outside.

Petunia handed him the shovel. Beneath his window, she had marked off a rectangle with string and stakes.

"Remove those bushes. They're all misshapen and I don't think they'll ever recover," Petunia gave him a knowing glare. "I want it dug deep. Break up the soil. No rocks. Get the two bags of compost out of the shed and work them in."

The sun felt good on his shirtless back. The bushes' roots were deep and harder to dig out than he expected. He dug around the base, then pried and yanked at them. The pruned and broken branches poked and scratched his arms. Still, he found that he liked the physical labor. His muscles would ache tomorrow, but he discovered that if he devoted himself totally to the task, his mind slowed down and he caught himself thinking of things besides Sirius. With the bushes finally out, he started to turn the soil over, piling any rocks he found to the side. He would deal with them later. The sun was low in the sky when at last he added the compost and raked the plot even.

It was dinner time and he was hungry. He hadn't eaten all day and had only drunk water from the hose. Through the screen door he could smell chicken frying.

"Done," he said, entering the kitchen.

"Good," she replied without looking up. "Get cleaned up. Dinner's almost ready and I want you to eat down here tonight. Vernon's working late." Harry was hungry enough that he decided not to object. As he walked toward the steps, Petunia glanced at his sweat and dirt streaked back and noticed how broad his shoulders were becoming. He was looking more like his father every day.

The next day, Harry was roused by another knock at his door and Aunt Petunia ordering him to come and help with the planting.

Petunia had divided the bed into a grid with string, and had marked the brown paper wrapped around each bunch of long, thick, grass-like fronds with a label indicating placement. Harry picked up the closest one and inspected the pretty yellow blossoms with pale peach centers. It read, "4 down 2 across."

Petunia pointed, "Not that one. Start in that corner with one, one. I'll start over here."

After about twenty minutes of planting, Petunia softly began talking.

"I think before I lost all contact, someone told me that her headstone had a carved lily on it. Or perhaps I only dreamed it. An Easter Lily. That's the flower most people associated with your mother. The pure, lily-white flower that represents the Virgin Mary. Lily used to say that I was lucky -- no expectations being named Petunia. She once joked that there was nothing pure about her, and the only thing even close to lily-white was her pale skin. Then she added that with her hair and freckles she most resembled the tiger lily with its orange speckled petals. It was James who said she was like the wild daylily -- uncontrollable, taking over everything. She loved it. The wild daylily wasn't pretentious like the other lilies, she said."

By now Harry was sitting stone still in the dirt, the bunch he had been planting forgotten in his lap. She had never, ever talked about his mum like this before. Shocked, Harry was afraid that if he moved a muscle she would stop. This was a new, private side of his aunt -- one he suspected was not only hidden from him, but from his uncle and Dudley as well. She had her back toward him, planting the tall grass-like stems. Her voice caught occasionally like she might be crying.

"James was right, she was most like the daylily. But not for the reason he said. They are called daylilies because each bloom lasts only one day. They remind us how precious and fragile life is, of our own mortality. They remind us to live each moment to the fullest with no regrets. They remind us that there are no excuses. That's how Lily lived." Despite his best efforts, Harry coughed softly as a lump rose in the back of his throat. Petunia's shoulders stiffened as though she suddenly remembered she wasn't alone.

Harry waited, the silence wrapping around him and settling like a weight on his shoulders. Finally, the quick, successive notes of a bird's call, followed by the distant pop of a car door slamming and some kids yelling somewhere down the block seemed to release Aunt Petunia and she turned to look at Harry. He could see the wet trails where tears had traveled down her face. "These are cultivated daylilies we're planting. The wild ones do take over. I never planted them before because . . . well, they remind me of your mother." It was only a moment, before she turned away and whispered so that Harry could barely hear, "I never allowed myself to grieve for them before. Not any of them."

Then, as quick as turning off a faucet, she turned back into the aunt he knew. She stood up, brushed the dirt from her kneeling pads and pulled off her gardening gloves. "Stop dawdling! Put the rest of these in and water them well. I have more important things that need doing. And get all the mud off before you come in! I don't want a mess like yesterday in the bathroom or you'll be taking all your showers by garden hose."

Aunt Petunia had changed, but not by much.


	5. Reflections

Please continue to review. I love hearing what you think of my story and ways you think I could improve it.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Reflections**

_And Harry's heart began to race. . . . He was going to be able to talk to Sirius again, right now, he knew it – . . . Harry remained quite still for a moment, then hurled the mirror back into the trunk where it shattered. He had been convinced, for a whole, shining minute, that he was going to see Sirius, talk to him again. . . . – Harry, OotP p 858_

_And so strong was his belief that Harry actually turned his head to check the door, sure, for a split second, that he was going to see Sirius . . . – Harry, OotP p 861_

* * *

In the dim patch of light cast by his window, his shadow rippled over the fronds. It was an entire plot of daylilies, in an array of colors, though no blooms showed now. They had twisted closed at dusk, their day done. Still, Harry knew there were other buds ready to burst open in the morning. There was something comforting in that. It occurred to him how much quicker he could have created the garden with magic, but wondered if he would now feel as satisfied. 

Harry sighed, and turned to scan the room. It was bare, uninviting, except for Hedwig in her cage. He hadn't unpacked any of the things he loved, any of the items that would transform this room into a place he could call, even remotely, his.

He went to the trunk, opened its lid, and lifted his robes, wand and some other items out onto the bed. Those he would pack back in again. He only carried the wand when he left the house and garden as a precaution. But his photos, pictures, books and a few other odd possessions he placed around the room.

Soon the trunk was empty. He was about to dump his robes back in when something flashed.

_Oh yeah, I suppose I better clean that up, _Harry thought, remembering the night he had flung the mirror into the trunk, shattering it. Retrieving the biggest shard, he turned it over in his hand, and was startled by the single eye that stared back at him. Out of the context of his face, and in the dim light where the green of his iris was muted, he didn't recognize it as his. Instead, it reminded him of his aunt's. There was the same sadness, emptiness and resignation he had seen yesterday in the garden when she had turned to look at him. The same welling up of tears.

Against his best efforts, a sob erupted in a hoarse cry of, "Oh Sirius, why?" He closed his palm until a sharp pain informed him that he had drawn blood. He wanted the pain. He deserved far more. Blood gathered under his fingernails. "Oh, Padfoot, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. Forgive me," he whispered. Blinking the tears away, he watched the blood streak down his arm and splatter to the floor. When a little puddle had formed, he forced himself to walk over to the desk to drop the sliver of glass in the rubbish. Though blood obscured most of the shard, for an instant under the desk lamp, Harry swore he saw a slice of something black moving.

His eyes widened. _"How stupid can I be?" _He wiped the blood away with his thumb then quickly gathered up all of the other pieces and gingerly laid them out on the desk. He was still bleeding, but he couldn't stop to worry about that now. Where was his wand? He grabbed it off the bed and raised it above his head to do a Reparo spell. A sharp barking outside stopped him short. Running to the window, he saw the mutt from up the street straining against her leash and barking up at him. He could hear her owner muttering, "Be quiet. People are sleeping," as she tugged on the leash.

Realizing how foolish he had almost been, Harry let the wand slide from his hand and drop to the floor. His hand was oozing blood from a small puncture wound. It throbbed like crazy. He grabbed a tissue and pressed it into his palm. He would have to wait to fix the mirror properly, but he could glue it together in the meantime. First though, he needed to wash and bandage his hand, then put his robes and his wand back in the trunk so that he wouldn't be tempted again.

It had been a week now. During the day, Aunt Petunia gave him chores -- mainly weeding and watering her herb and flower beds. In between, Harry meticulously glued the shards of the mirror together. Initially, he had tried to glue them all at once, and ended up gluing the mirror to the desk. He had to drape a wet towel over it for a whole day to soak it loose. He then started over again, carefully gluing only one fragment at a time. It was like torture waiting for each piece to dry before doing another. And even with all his care, many slivers didn't seem to match up and others were missing. (He had placed sheets of the _Daily Prophet _down in the bottom of the trunk to protect his robes, instead of vacuuming, so perhaps the small splinters would remain and the mirror could be made whole later.)

Now, at last, he was done, though the mirror was no longer rectangular. He almost wished he had confessed to his friends the last time he'd sent Hedwig out with a post. He was sure Tonks, at least, would have gladly mended it for him. But he thought others, like Moody, might not be so indulgent. Besides, he had never told anyone about the mirror and didn't feel like revealing his own prideful stupidity.

Now he held the mirror tenderly in the light of seven candles. He felt candles were more conducive to incantations, but wanted to make sure that it was bright enough to see clearly. He had resisted testing just a shard again, but now the time had come. Breathing in deeply, he momentarily squeezed his eyes shut and wished with all his heart. The candles flickered as he let his breath out in a slow, clear "Padfoot." A black shadow passed over the crazed surface. He was sure this time. He waited, but there was nothing more. Then he heard a dog barking outside. He ran to his window to see a small, beagle-like stray barking up at him. Harry dashed down the stairs and out the door, but the dog spooked and darted away. By the time Harry retrieved his wand and walked the dark streets searching for him, the dog was nowhere to be found.


	6. Sirius's Stay

After reading _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, I could not accept that Sirius was simply dead and that the veil was not more than it seemed. So this next chapter is my exploration of possibilities . . . And, as the lucky companion of a big, wonderful, black dog I just couldn't resist . . .

Hope you enjoy and continue reviewing. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Sirius's Stay**

* * *

_. . . a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark. . . . . – Harry, OotP p 844_

_"Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you? . . . In that room with the archway. They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them." – Luna, OotP p 863_

* * *

Sirius heard the anguished call once more, felt the tug on his soul and responded the only way he could -- by focusing all of his intent, every fiber of his being, in answering. When the pull subsided, and he was again calm, he slipped uneasily back into his memories.

* * *

Sirius knew he could take Bella, but a quick death was more than she deserved. Besides, he was actually enjoying himself for a change. He effortlessly ducked the red jet from her wand and laughed. "Come on, you can do better than that!" The sudden increased fire in her eyes made him flash momentarily back to a swearing, skinny girl with fists and black pigtails swinging as he easily held her at arm's length. Then he was back in the present, his eyes widening in shock as the second jet of red light hit him square on the chest. 

Pain, hate filled every cell till they threatened to erupt agonizingly. This was not a death spell. Looking into Bella's eyes, Sirius suddenly knew fear. His raised hand brushed the veil behind him as his falling body arched back. He knew instinctively if he fell through, filled with his present emotions, he would spend eternity in a tortuous hell of pain, fear and consuming hate. Powerless, he was falling, unable to even shift his gaze, his eyes locked straight ahead.

But the world was shifting around him. He had been twisting slightly when the spell struck and the momentum tilted him as he fell. His arm was already through the veil, burning unbelievably when Bellatrix's face drifted sideways and he saw Harry leaping down the steps toward him, Lupin's grief stricken face just behind.

_No!_ Sirius silently cried._ I can't leave them like this. Not Harry. I promised. I promised James and Lily. . . . And Remus. I need him. He accepts me even with all my faults. No, I won't leave them. I can't. I promised. Harry needs me. I love him more than anything. _Love washed over Sirius like a soothing balm as the veil closed around him.

He was floating in thick, inky blackness. Far off, he could hear someone calling his name.

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled, "SIRIUS!"

Sirius started to dog paddle, realizing at some point that he had transformed into his animagus. Love and loyalty drew him toward the arch. But love and tenderness were also radiating from the stars around him. He felt them calling to him, too.

* * *

_"We both know there are other ways of destroying a man, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly . . . "Merely taking your life would not satisfy me, I admit --"_

_"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!" snarled Voldemort._

_"You are quite wrong," said Dumbledore . . . "Indeed, your failure to understand that there are things worse than death has always been your greatest weakness --"_

_And then Harry's scar burst open. He knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance – _

_. . . Death is nothing compared to this . . . And I'll see Sirius again . . . And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creature's coils loosened, the pain was gone . . . _

_– OotP pgs 814, 815, & 816_

* * *

An indistinct, snake-like form was writhing in the blackness before Padfoot. Fear and loathing rose in him as he lunged, intending to sink his fangs into the coils. Pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance engulfed and transformed him as he snatched ineffectively at the insubstantial coiling snake, trying to get a grip with his fingers, trying to pull the snake off. 

Suddenly, a great love was emanating from the center of the form. Sirius felt his every cell respond with a reciprocating love as he transformed back into Padfoot. Then the love and snake were gone. Loneliness expanded in the sudden void. Padfoot swam in the blackness without purpose or direction, a lost, frantic feeling rising. Then he heard a familiar voice in his head.

_It's okay, Padfoot. We're here. You are not alone. You can't see us. Believe in what you cannot see. Feel us. Sense us. You have much to learn before you can endure being a man again. Let us help you. James, I, and all who love you are here. Bellatrix, in her cunning, has marooned you between life and afterlife. She intended to trap you for eternity in a great, agonizing state of limbo. As long as you harbor hate, fear, and a desire for revenge- -as you do when you are Sirius --you suffer. _

_Learn from being a dog. Learn unconditional love and forgiveness. Her intent does not harm you as Padfoot. But you must learn to retain these qualities when you transform. You must learn compassion for your enemies. Learn to forgive them, and see past the evil they do, to who they really are. Only then can you pass back through the veil. Only love can survive the journey. Hate destroys who you are. Fear binds you. Love frees you. _

Padfoot wagged his tail at the sound of Lily's voice.

* * *

Time passed in dreams and memories. 

The dreams were mainly doggie dreams: Living a free life without concern for past or future. Sleeping in front of a warm fire at the feet of a friend, whose old familiar hand occasionally reached down to scratch his ears. A woman, singing softly as she prepared a big, juicy steak exactly the way he liked it--rare. Wrestling with human pups out on the lawn. Giving kiddie rides, their soft, pudgy hands wrapped in the long, black fur at the nape of his neck. Chasing sticks, balls, and the heels of kids skimming above the ground on brooms. Running through the woods with a pack of human cubs, his heightened senses filled with all the wonders of the world he so terribly missed.

The memories, though, were all about the past. They unfolded like a reel of his life, and the lives of those who knew him. He saw his parents and others that he maintained hate toward as young children happy and carefree. He saw instances when they were subtly taught to hate by others, or when humiliation and hurt solidified the lessons. He saw them older, but still young and hopeful, beaming at him as a baby.

He was surprised as feelings, long ago forgotten, rose within him. He remembered and felt his families' love and tenderness as he was growing and knew that he had once loved them back. There were so many episodes: His mother comforting and holding him as he cried uncontrollably at the death of Saber. (Saber had unintentionally nipped him while playing ball, and Sirius in sudden pain and anger had accidentally blasted him up into the air. The dog was fatally injured by his fall back to earth.) Looking up at his father with pride, his small hand smothered in his large one as they were escorted to the VIP box to watch his first Quidditch match. Playing hide-and-seek and other childhood games with his brother Regulus, and his cousins, Bella and Cissy. Going off to Hogwarts, and being sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin as expected, and not understanding his parents' sudden displeasure. Linking up with James and Remus and seeing everything change and fall into place with his growing awareness of his families' prejudices. Witnessing his own moments of cruelty and prejudice toward others.

He often woke disturbed by these visions, and the lights that had first called to him would come to him, soothing him, stroking him with their familiar voices.

But there was another voice that sometimes disturbed his reveries. It called from very far away with such grief and anguish that Padfoot would be moved to despair and would attempt to send reassurance and comfort. He had a feeling that he was not directly reaching the boy, only others of his kind with a sort of pack mentality thinking. Yet it was all that he could do, and he felt that somehow it helped, for the anguished feeling would soon relent.


	7. Mrs Figg Comes to Tea

Hi all. With a little experimentation, I finally figured out how to consistently put the lines in, etc., so now I'm putting them in everywhere!

I do know that JKR says that Mark Evans was just a coincidence, but when I first wrote this, I didn't know that.

As always, please, please review.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**Mrs. Figg Comes to Tea**

* * *

_. . . Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word... Mrs. Figg was one thing – but Aunt Petunia? -- OotP p 31_

_"It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies . . ." – Dumbledore, GoF p 722_

* * *

Harry was trimming the hedges when he spied Mrs. Figg scurrying his way with her cat, Mr. Tibbles, at her heel. She paused at their walkway.

"Good afternoon, Harry. How are you today?"

Harry longed to ask her opinion of the mirror. He wanted to tell her that each time he used it, he saw a black shadow, and then a dog barked outside his window. It was always a different dog. Some were being walked by their owners, some were friendly strays he petted, threw sticks for, or walked the streets with for awhile. Others were not so friendly and growled when he approached. None of them exhibited any behavior other than that of an ordinary dog. Still, he enjoyed their company and the distraction.

"I'm getting along okay, Mrs. Figg. And you?"

"I'm quite enjoying myself, it's such a beautiful day." She lowered her voice. "The news has been awful, though! You get the _Daily Prophet_, don't you?" Harry nodded. "Well, don't let it bother you. Everyone with any sense knows not to believe half of what they print." Mrs. Figg tilted her head toward the house, "They treating you well?"

"I suppose so. Aunt Petunia keeps me busy with gardening and Uncle Vernon's hardly here. He stays late at the office most nights. Dudley's taken to spending much of his time in his room, though when he does catch me alone, he's been asking me questions, which is rather strange."

"Questions? About what, dear?"

"Magic. My parents. Sirius. How they died. What I remember or have been told about them. Hogwarts. What's it like, and what's happened while I'm there."

"Do you answer him?" she asked, leaning in for the answer and smelling slightly of cooked cabbage.

"Sometimes."

"If you can manage it, you should. He's blood. He should know. Knowledge precedes understanding which precedes tolerance and acceptance. Well, I better get along or I'll be late. Do come and visit me soon." But instead of continuing on down the street, Mrs. Figg turned and walked up the pavement toward the house.

"Wait!" Harry called. This was exactly what Aunt Petunia feared.

"No cause for alarm, Harry. Your aunt called and_ invited_ me to tea," Mrs. Figg replied from the step as Mr. Tibbles twisted round her feet. Before Harry could protest further, she rang the doorbell. Harry stood transfixed. His aunt appeared and cautiously greeted Mrs. Figg, holding the door only slightly ajar. "Arabella, good to see you. I don't think the cat..."

"...will be any trouble," Mrs. Figg said, pulling the door the rest of the way open. Mr. Tibbles rushed in and Mrs. Figg followed, sliding past a now sour-faced Petunia.

Aunt Petunia turned to Harry with a distressed, pleading glare as if he should do something. Harry simply smiled up at her. She turned on her heels, hastily adding, "Weed and water all the flower beds. I don't want you bothering us."

Arabella stood near the sofa. A silver tray, laid ready for tea, rested on the coffee table nearby. Petunia swooped up the tray with one hand and grabbed Arabella's elbow with the other. "I think we'll be much more comfortable in the kitchen." She ushered Arabella and her cat into the sterile, clean room, quickly sat the tea set on the plastic tablecloth and hastened to shut the doors to the rest of the house. "It will be more private this way."

Pulling two chairs out from the table, Arabella invited Mr. Tibbles to take one, while she sat down in the other. She leaned over and whispered, "I don't think she was expecting you."

By the time Petunia turned back to the table, Mr. Tibbles had settled on the cushion and was busy cleaning his privates. Petunia stifled a whimper and took the seat across from Arabella. She didn't see much else she could do other than offer her some tea.

Arabella fidgeted slightly in the uncomfortable, straight-backed chair, stirring sugar into her second cup. The silver spoon tinkled against the edge of the china. They had already discussed the lack of rain, the heat, gardening, and the gossip of the neighborhood. She wondered if Petunia would ever have the nerve to get to the real reason for the invitation. She was running out of patience and small talk. She'd just have to force the matter. Arabella laid the spoon on the flowered saucer and looked directly into Petunia's eyes.

"What is it, dear? I know this isn't just a social visit."

Petunia blushed, obviously flustered, and dropped her eyes to the tablecloth which she nervously began smoothing. "I don't know how to ask this. Are you . . . are you a . . ." Petunia glanced up.

Taking pity on her, Arabella answered her unfinished question. "Of course, dear. But you've known that for some time. Otherwise, you wouldn't have let little Harry come over for tea all those years."

"What do you mean? We made him because Harry didn't like to . . ." her voice trailed off as she realized what she was admitting.

"That was your reasoning, but look beneath the obvious. If I know you, and I do better than you know, you've always been overly concerned about safety, about 'accidents,' about what your neighbors may think or suspect, about anything out of the ordinary? So why did you trust Harry to me?"

Petunia eyes flickered indignation, alarm, disbelief then settled on resignation. "Because it didn't matter if Harry did something odd at your house," Petunia muttered, retreating back into her chair.

"Precisely!" Arabella glowed. She winked at Mr. Tibbles, "I told you so."

"I think . . . I only thought . . . I didn't think you were . . . " Petunia stammered.

"Dear, you need to trust your intuition more. Now that I've confirmed I'm a Squib, tell me what's bothering you."

"Oh it's nothing." Petunia reached for the plate of biscuits and started to get up, as if she meant to clear the table. "Well . . . " she said, plopping back down, suddenly deflated. "I sometimes feel . . . I mean . . ." Years of control suddenly collapsed. "I'm afraid, and I don't even know why. Something's happened and I'm questioning _things_ I used to be sure of. Maybe it's just getting older, but everything seems to be changing around me. Something's happened to Harry. He's different. He hides it, but I can tell. Lily would want . . . I don't know what I should do. I need to know what's going on. What happened . . . now . . . and then . . . I need to know about Lily and my family and . . . some of the wizards I used to know. I haven't heard anything since Harry was a baby."

"Oh my goodness! No one's told you about Sirius Black and You-Know-Who then?"

Petunia's face went ashen as she shrank further back into her chair. "Please tell me everything," she whispered, as if they were the most difficult words she had ever spoken.

It was over two hours later, the tea forgotten and cold. Arabella had related only the main events -- she could fill in details later, if desired. Petunia had asked probing questions about the fate of her family, certain friends, Harry, and You-Know-Who. Arabella was surprised at some of the people she asked after. She admired her fortitude. Petunia had persisted in her unrelenting questions, even though Arabella could read fear in her eyes, and almost all of the answers had washed grief or horror across her face. It was obvious that it was all much too much for Petunia to grasp.

White and shaken, Petunia reached for the tea cups, needing the distraction. She started to rise, her trembling hands spilling what little tea was left in the cups. Arabella pushed back her chair. "You just stay put, luvvy, I'll clean up." Petunia's hands floated aimlessly onto her lap as she sank back down.

Arabella dabbed at the plastic tablecloth with a napkin, then turned to draw some water in the sink to wash the dishes. Behind her, Petunia muttered. Arabella wasn't sure if she was talking to her, or to herself.

"So, he's really back? How can I protect those I love? We're all in danger, aren't we? I don't know what I should do. What can I do? I don't even know who I am anymore, much less . . . how to deal with Harry and all THIS! I don't know . . . about my own son and husband. Dudley's taken to his room and hardly comes out. He doesn't talk to me anymore. And Vernon's never here. I'm afraid . . . our marriage . . . What if You-Know-Who . . . " Tears choked off the words as Petunia openly sobbed.

Wiping her hands on the starched dish towel, Arabella returned to her seat, reaching across the table to take Petunia's hand. "Oh dear, it's been hard on you. It's always hard living between two worlds, but you've had yourself cut in half for so many years now. I suppose, now that Harry's in school and his whereabouts aren't exactly a secret anymore, you could claim your birthright and join our support group. It's kind of like Al-Anon, but for Squibs and Muggles who have magical members in their family. It's a real help. It would keep you informed. Your cousin Max Evans and his wife Mindy are members. Of course, you don't know Mindy. Max was just a boy when his parents were murdered by . . . well, you know. Their son Mark goes to the same school your boys did. He will be getting his letter soon if he's a wizard. He's shown some potential, but it's a little hard to tell with descendants of Squibs."

"My cousin Max is alive?"

"Yes."

"He's a Squib?"

"Well, your father and his brother Jerry were second generation Squibs and Jerry married Adele who was magical, but their son Max wasn't, so yes, Max would be considered a Squib."

"My dad, . . . he was normal. Only Lily was different," Petunia corrected.

"Well that depends on how you define normal. Your father, second generation, married your mother, a Muggle, though her great-aunt, I think it was, was a witch. So, naturally, they'd lead a fairly normal Muggle life -- just like I do. That's how most of us manage in mixed families. Besides, Wizard law classifies second generation Squibs as having reverted back to Muggle status. You didn't think it only went one way, did you? However, Squibs unofficially consider anyone with an ancestor of magical blood to be a Squib no matter how far back it is. By that standard, you'd be surprised how many Muggles are really Squibs. Not much difference between Squibs and Muggles really. Then again, not much difference between Squibs and Wizards either. Just some casting of spells and stuff like that."

"No, my parents were _normal! I'm normal!_"

"You mean you honestly didn't know? Oh dear! I knew you married young and your parents died soon after, but I thought you were just laying low for the sake of Vernon, Dudley and Harry. Oh, you poor thing. Did you never notice that you were slightly more gifted than most Muggles?"

"Gifted? No! What do you mean?" Petunia remembered the letter she had received as a child. She had never told anyone about it, but did the whole Wizard world know anyway?

"Intuition. Things you felt sure of . . . without proof. Like _suspecting_ I was _different_. Gifts. Talents. It's not just wands and spells that comprise magic. It's what's in our minds and hearts. Many are not aware that they create their immediate reality by what they think. Look at what you've thought of Harry, yourself, and your family all these years and look at the life you created for yourself. We also have extra powers of perception. We've always had a strong showing among the visionaries, philosophers, artists, writers, healers, and scientists. We make excellent teachers. Some are gifted with animals. Others with plants -- as I'd say you are, judging by how profusely your flowers bloom."

Petunia stared at her hands.

"Petunia, dear, we need _everyone_ now. You are an emissary between our two worlds. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has not returned to destroy the Wizard world -- that he only wishes to rule. He's here to destroy anyone who is not pure-blood. He's here to destroy our world, the Muggle world."

Petunia gasped in horror, her face pasty.

"We mustn't be afraid, Petunia. We can't afford to be paralyzed by fear. If we are, he wins."

"How can we not be afraid?" Petunia whimpered.

"I don't know, but we have to try to learn. Fear only makes him stronger. He feeds on it. Learn to love instead. That's how your sister defeated him. Don't discount the power of your heart and mind, the power of your intentions, the power of love."

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If you would like to know more about Mrs. Figg and her views and how she came to watch over Harry, please read my companion piece, **_Windows to the Soul_**. Thank you. 


	8. The Venting of Vernon

Of course, I couldn't leave Vernon out.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added me to their alert or favorite list. Please continue reviewing. I love reading your comments and suggestions for improving my writing.

I tried loading this chapter earlier and it kept dropping paragraphs out. I hope it finally loaded correctly. If it does not read right, know that I am still trying to get it corrected. I have no idea why it is not working.

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**The Venting of Vernon**

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_"It's you," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "It's got something to do with you, boy, I know it." – Vernon, OotP p 36_

_"You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us." – Vernon, OotP p 39_

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Vernon sat at his desk with his feet up, his back to the window, reading _The Times_. He had taken to staying at work late. It seemed the best way to deal with the whole mess. At least Harry's teacher had come for him early. Vernon's face turned red with repressed rage. _What a bloody cheek that Dumbledore was, suggesting that they had abused Dudley! What rubbish! And that house Harry had inherited . . . not a bit of sense in that ungrateful boy! Couldn't he think of others for a change? Didn't he think he owed them anything for taking him in and paying for his upkeep all these years? And that gang of his at the station! What right did they have to tell him how to run his own house? _

Vernon almost ripped his newspaper in half as he turned the page. _But, it isn't just Harry anymore. If that were so, I'd be home having dinner with my family right now. _Truth told, he hadn't caught Harry causing any trouble during his stay this time, if you discounted those occasional barking dogs. But now, Petunia and Dudley were acting differently. _Bet it's Harry's fault. He's behind it somehow! _

His wife was at some sort of support group for families with magical members right now. She went every Tuesday night. She had mentioned that Dudley and he should go also, but he had made it clear that, though he couldn't forbid her from going if she was determined to defy him (though he damn well had tried), she had better not involve Dudley, and certainly not him.

Then she started talking about going to the local college to take some horticulture classes.

Now that the kids were away in school most of the year, he had hoped to use any extra money they had on a new car. Maybe take some drives in the country. Enjoy visiting old friends -- the few that hadn't been scared off already -- without worry of embarrassment. Or they could visit Marge. Anyway, they couldn't afford college and a car, even if she only went part time. Imagine, she suggested that their friends could now come visit them and that he could take the underground! _She knows how uneasy I am around all those foreigners and tourists! _

Next, he came home one day to find her fixing up Dudley's old parrot cage. Said she was thinking of getting a canary or parakeet for company. Said she was lonely around the house all day by herself. He had thought she was joking at first, but when she persisted, he put a stop to that _very_ fast. There was no way he was starting down that slippery slope. Next thing you know, she'd be wanting a cat, or one of those damn barking dogs, or saying something absurd like Harry's owl isn't so bad after all!

And the latest nonsense was asking one of the neighbors, that daft, old, Arabella Figg – _did she even have a car?_-- to take her somewhere to see -- _what did she call it?_ -- a 'Pensieve'. Which, when Petunia decided to tell him what that meant in English, turned out to be some kind of video recording of her families' funerals. _Now why, after all these years would she have wanted to do that? _All she had done since was cry. He didn't feel sorry for her. She had brought it on herself. _What did she expect? _

And then there was Dudley. He was acting arrogant and rude, and spending all of his spare time alone in his room. At first Vernon presumed he was only being a teenager. But last Saturday, to get away from Petunia's continued bawling, he had decided to take Dudley to a football match, something they had always loved doing together. But when he opened Dudley's door, what did he find? Drawings of some long-haired girl taped all over the walls. And books scattered on the floor. Dudley was sprawled on his bed writing in a notebook that he attempted to hide. Vernon had demanded to see it. When Dudley finally relinquished it, he discovered it was filled with love poems!

Now Vernon understood a boyhood crush as well as anyone, but Dudley was going about it all wrong, and he told him so. He told Dudley to stop wasting time on such silly, sissy stuff. Romance was overrated by girls with fairy-tales still fresh in their heads, and a girl like that was only trouble. He needed to be practical. He should be a man of action, and just go and tell her how he felt. Any girl with an ounce of good sense should jump at the chance to go out with him.

Vernon never would have believed what happened next! Dudley grabbed the notebook from his hands and said it was none of his business. He said, "I'm tired of trying to be who you want me to be. I'm going to do what I want for a change whether you damn well like it or not!" _What a mouth on that boy. I'm going to have to do something about that. And hadn't Dudley always done exactly what Dudley wanted, anyway?_

_Get rid of Harry. Things will get back to normal once Harry's gone for good. All this nonsense will stop then. _He'd make sure of it. He had never understood why they had to keep him anyway, especially now. _It isn't as if he doesn't have friends who would welcome him and with whom he would rather be. My Dad kicked me out when I was sixteen and I survived. _At least that Dumbledore fellow had said that after Harry turned seventeen they wouldn't have to keep him any longer.

_Let's see, if Dudley and Harry are sixteen now, then she would be around fourteen and a half. _His internal rant suddenly dissipated, leaving an ill feeling. Vernon stared at his paper but could no longer discern the words before him. He ran his hand over his face, disoriented. Twisting his chair toward the window, he gazed up at the hazy blue sky. When he finally swivelled back around, he folded his paper, placed it neatly on the corner of his desk, dug a small key out of his wallet and unlocked the bottom drawer. In the back behind the files, where he stashed a bottle of brandy and a shot glass for really trying days, he found the little box his fat fingers were hunting for.

He placed the white cardboard jewelry box on his desk blotter, then reached in for the brandy and glass. He poured himself a drink and nursed it, contemplating the box as if it were an intricate bomb of some sort that he needed to defuse. Finally, he gingerly removed the rubber band from around it and lifted off the lid. Inside on a small pillow of cotton was a tiny, scratched, pink, heart-shaped, plastic hair clip.

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_He was at the hospital to pick his wife up and bring her home. As he approached the rotating glass door his foot rocked on something. Muttering to himself about the abominable litter everywhere, he bent down to pick up whatever it was._

_With his thumb, he rubbed clean the small, pink heart. He envisioned a baby girl, cradled in the crook of her proud father's arm, her mother reaching over to adjust the blanket so that the sun wouldn't shine in her newborn eyes, unaware that she had knocked the clip loose from the thin, blond curls. _

_He thought about the arrangements he had made that very day to have his own daughter buried. He had decided against a funeral with family or even a simple grave side service. The few words the hospital chaplain had said earlier would suffice. It was best to put it as quickly as possible behind them. _

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For unknown reasons, he had dropped the hair clip in his pocket and later had put it in the box and brought the box to work where Petunia would never find it. He never touched the clip. Just occasionally, when the mood swayed him, he would do as he was doing now -- look at it for a moment before stashing it back in the dark of his drawer. He regretted his hasty decision about the service. Something in both Petunia and him had never healed. Perhaps it was because they had never really said goodbye.

Vernon poured another drink, slugged it down, wiped the glass clean with his handkerchief and put the items carefully back in their places. He then picked up _The Times _again, and flipped it open to the next page.

_Look at this. The whole world's a mess. More unexplained murders and they still haven't found out what happened to the Brockdale Bridge. I wonder if it could be terrorism? I've always thought we let too many foreigners in. They don't think like we do. They don't share our values, our good, old-fashioned morals. _

_This reminds me of that dreadful time when Harry arrived. Lots of strange things were happening then too. I bet he and his kind have something to do with all this. I wonder if I should go to the authorities and tell them? _

_They probably wouldn't believe me, and even if they did, they wouldn't be able to do anything. But we have to fight back somehow. We have to rid the world of evil, otherwise it will destroy our way of life. We need to be constantly vigilant. Go on the offensive to protect ourselves. We need a good war. It would do our country and our boys good. Teach them discipline, sacrifice and what it means to be a man. _

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This ends the summer between _Order of the Phoenix_ and _Half-Blood Prince_. If you have not read _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ you should read it now before continuing because the next chapter of my story picks up where it ends.

Please review


	9. The Way of Toffee Eclairs

A/N: I had a little trouble posting my last chapter, _The Venting of Vernon, _but finally got it up correctly. Thanks for your patience. I have not received any reviews on it, though, so please review.

This chapter starts as _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_ ends and is obviously a spoiler for Book 6.

After reading HBP, the focus of my story shifted. After all, I now had Dumbledore's death, Snape's betrayal, and the finding and destroying of the horcruxes as fertile playgrounds. I hope you enjoy my version.

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**The Way of Toffee Eclairs**

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_**Harry could not tell whether the shivers he was experiencing were due to his spine-deep coldness or to the same awareness of enchantments. He watched as Dumbledore continued to revolve on the spot, evidently concentrating on things Harry could not see. . . . Harry did not ask how Dumbledore knew. He had never seen a wizard work things out like this, simply by looking and touching; but Harry had long since learned that bangs and smoke were more often the marks of ineptitude than expertise. – HBP p 558**_

"_**Magic always leaves traces . . . sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style." – Dumbledore, HBP p 563**_

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Many students left immediately after Dumbledore's death; others with their families after the funeral. Prefects were needed on the train for the few remaining students -- mainly from Muggle families, so Ron and Hermione volunteered. Ginny took the train as well. She told her parents that she wanted to be with her friends awhile longer. She told Hermione that she didn't want to be alone with her parents quite yet. Harry knew it would be his last opportunity to ride the Hogwarts Express, so he elected to join them. 

He sat alone now, lost in thought of the coming war with Voldemort. When Ron and Hermione briefly popped in, they commented that even the Slytherin compartments were unusually subdued. Hardly anyone was talking, and those who did, whispered, as if afraid of disturbing the numbing pall that had settled over everyone. Certainly none had the nerve to bother Harry, and he was thankful he didn't have to waste time on a braver pretense than he felt.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, having invited Hermione and Harry to stay the summer, took all of the trunks with them directly to the Burrow. Harry, however, had informed them that he had to return to the Dursleys one last time. Ron and Hermione offered to accompany him, but he insisted it wasn't necessary. He only needed to be there a few nights to fulfill Dumbledore's wish and qualify for protection until his seventeenth birthday.

What he didn't tell them, was that he intended to stay longer. He wanted some time alone to think, and he figured if he had put up with the Dursleys this long, a little longer wouldn't kill him. Plus it would be too hard to stay at the Weasleys for the whole summer. Far too hard . . . on Ginny . . . and him. Once there, he only planned to stay for Bill and Fleur's wedding and until he passed his Apparition test. After he had his license and his birthday was behind him, he would move into Grimmauld Place.

He hated the idea, but there was nowhere else to go. The Order would keep him informed while he focused on the horcruxes and remained safe from any confrontations with Voldemort, whom he was sure would be hunting him now that Dumbledore was out of the way. He thought about Sirius feeling imprisoned at Grimmauld and how it had affected him. He knew he was condemning himself to the same hellish fate.

The train's rumble slowed and took on the thump-thumpity-thump of a sleeping giant's heartbeat. Harry's eyes watered as he took one last look around the compartment and rubbed his hand over the worn silky-smooth seat beside him. He remembered his excitement six short years ago when he had first boarded the Hogwarts Express. Now it was another one of the many things he felt he was being compelled to say goodbye to before he was ready.

As the trained puffed to a stop, Harry took off his glasses, and ran the heel of his hand across his eyes. After absentmindedly cleaning them on the hem of his t-shirt, he pushed the glasses back up on his nose and glanced out the window as the train slowed to a stop. The platform was almost deserted. With a sigh, he grabbed his knapsack and Hedwig's cage and hurried out. He had not bothered to contact his aunt and uncle. Mr. Weasley had offered to drop him off and to fetch him again when he was ready.

The few parents who were there, slyly glanced his way as they quickly and quietly gathered up their children. Harry mustering himself, threw his shoulders back so that he would appear more assured than he felt. He barely noticed as Hermione kissed his check, saying she hoped to see him in a few days, before departing with her own parents.

The car trip was unbearable. Scrimgeour had refused the loan of a Ministry car, so they were using a regular Muggle car. There was no choice but to have Ginny sit squeezed between Ron and him in the back seat. Harry could feel the heat of her thigh against his. Hedwig's cage was on his lap with his arm hung awkwardly over it to ensure that he did not brush it against Ginny. Ron was saying something about getting started right away on their "project," but Harry rolled down his window and leaned his head out, pretending he couldn't hear. He didn't want to have to look past Ginny to answer.

Still there was a moment when conflicting breezes caught Ginny's long hair and blew it across his check. Harry held his breath until Ginny managed to rake it over her far shoulder, twist it and secure the end with a tie. With everything else that had happened to him in his life, Harry felt as if the most trying was this seemingly endless drive back to the Dursleys.

When they finally pulled up in front of the house on Privet Drive, Harry leapt out the car as though he had been shot from a cannon. Mr. Weasley went around to the trunk to retrieve Harry's knapsack, while Mrs. Weasley heaved herself out of her seat to give Harry a big hug. Ron, having hoisted himself halfway out the window, yelled over the top of the car, "Harry, if you don't send for us in a week, I'm coming to get you."

By now, Petunia and Vernon were squeezed in the doorway, their mouths hanging open. Vernon sputtered, "Wh – what are you doing _here? . . . _Finally got expelled have you? . . . Well you can't come crawling back to . . . "

Vernon never got to finish his sentence. Mr. Weasley had chucked Harry his knapsack and marched up the steps until he was right in Vernon's red face. Vernon and Petunia backed up until they were lost in the shadows of the entrance.

Mr. Weasley stuck out his hand cheerfully saying, "Nice to see you again. Just want to remind you that the rules from last year are still in effect. Harry said he needed to come home one more time, but we expect him at our place very soon. So make the best of it. After that, Molly and I hope he will consider our home his home. If you miss your nephew, we want you to know that you are welcome to drop by anytime for a visit," Mr. Weasley turned and winked at Harry, "that is, if it is okay with Harry."

With that Mr. Weasley scrambled back down the steps, threw an arm across Harry's shoulders and squeezing slightly, said, "We'll be awaiting Hedwig's post. Don't make us wait too long."

Harry watched as they all piled back into the car. Among the good-byes he heard Ginny's voice, but when he looked, she was hidden in shadow, her back toward him as she spoke to Ron. Only as the car was disappearing around the corner, did Ginny turn to look at him.

When he entered the house, Petunia and Vernon were still standing just inside the doorway, as if frozen there since Mr. Weasley's approach. Finally Petunia shook herself free and asked, "Why are you home early? What's happened?"

Harry watched them intently, curious as to the effect his pronouncement would have, "_Dumbledore's dead."_

Harry didn't know what he anticipated, but was surprised by the range of emotions that quickly flooded his aunt's face. Shock and fear were expected, but he thought he discerned traces of relief, regret and sadness. Vernon's face was easier to read: Hate and fear mixed with something close to satisfaction.

"How?" his aunt barely whispered.

"Snape murdered him," Harry spat angrily. His aunt's features twisted with renewed anguish and Harry was surprised by the sudden increased horror in her eyes. When she self-consciously looked away, Harry turned and stomped up the stairs.

Behind him, Vernon found his voice and growled, "Where do you think . . ." but he was cut short by Petunia's tightly strained voice, "Leave the boy alone."

Harry scanned his room. Something was different, other than the fact that his aunt had obviously cleaned up the rubbish he'd left. Then Harry's eyes fell upon the tattered yellowed edges of a neat stack of _Daily Prophets _on his desk. On top of the pile was a purple leaflet with the words _PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES. _A series of visions flashed through his mind. One of Petunia picking the leaflet up, then collapsing to the floor. Another, of her sitting at his desk, reading the newspapers one by one, her face pallid. Harry cursed under his breath. He had left in such a hurry he hadn't thought to clean up.

That night Harry took from his pocket Sirius's mirror and gently placed it within the circle of candles still on his desk. He had repaired the mirror in his first week back at Hogwarts and tried it out once, late at night. Fang had responded, making such a ruckus that he had awakened half the school. Soon a throng of fearful students leaned out of windows watching as Hagrid bolted from his hut, bellowing, "What's wrong, Fang? Are you hurt?" while a contingent of teachers spilled out of the front door onto the lawn, wand in hand.

After that, Harry decided it was unwise to use it at school and had stashed it in a pair of socks in the bottom of his trunk where it was eventually joined by the _Felix Felicis_ potion.

Watching the mirror intently, Harry called "Padfoot." The familiar black shadow swam across the chipped surface and a few moments later he heard a dog barking. Harry walked over to the window and glanced down at the pavement. In the circle of the street lamp a shaggy, tan dog was barking up at him. He recognized it as a dog he had wandered the dark streets with last summer, but tonight he did not go out. Those days of frivolous activity and relative safety were over. With Dumbledore gone, Harry did not want to tempt Voldemort to remove his last obstacle.

The next day, Harry had the house to himself which he appreciated. He knew Uncle Vernon was at work, but had no idea where Aunt Petunia was off to. It didn't matter. Harry spent the morning hunched over a piece of paper making lists and drawing lines between the columns trying to discover any connections.

The first column consisted of:

1. Diary,

2. Morfin's ring,

3. Slytherin locket,

4. Hufflepuff cup,

5. Nagini,

6. Something of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, and

7. Voldemort.

Harry circled Voldemort's name.

The second column listed all of the places he knew that might be significant to Voldemort:

1. Orphanage,

2. Village by the sea,

3. Cave,

4. Hogwarts,

5. Gaunt's house,

6. Riddle's mansion,

7. Borgin & Burkes,

8. Hepzibah Smith's house,

9. Godric's Hollow, and

10. Albania.

After thinking a moment, he wrote Hog's Head above Godric's Hollow. It was where Snape had overheard the prophecy and the only other place he could think of.

Harry then bracketed the orphanage, village and cave together and did the same with Gaunt's house/Riddle's mansion, Borgin & Burkes/Hepzibah's house, and Hog's Head/Godric's Hollow, grouping them into eras of Voldemort's life. He then drew a line between the diary and Hogwarts, the ring and Gaunt's house and another one between the cave and the locket and wrote "R.A.B." above that line and "DESTROYED" on the prior two. That left him the improbable task of finding R.A.B., who was most likely dead. How was he to ask a dead man if the locket was destroyed or not anyway?

He studied the sheet for a while, and then drew a dotted line between the cup and Borgin & Burkes/Hepzibah's house and another between Gryffindor/Ravenclaw and Godric's Hollow/Hog's Head. He figured Nagini was the odd one out, based on impulse instead of logic, and created recently as Dumbledore had surmised.

The main problem Harry saw was that the connections were too obvious. Dumbledore surely had checked them all out. But since he also was not here to ask, Harry figured there was nothing to do except re-check them. He had already decided on the first one, Godric's Hollow. In the meantime he knew Hermione was still seeking clues as to the identity of R.A.B.

It occurred to Harry that knowing where to look wasn't enough. Take Godric's Hollow: A horcrux could be there. It fit the profile. Dumbledore had said that he thought Voldemort had intended to make the last horcrux by the reprehensible deed of killing him as a baby, and so much of magic, depended on intent. And even if Voldemort had failed at killing him, it didn't mean he had failed at creating a horcrux. After all, he had killed Harry's mum and dad. Harry realized he needed to know how horcruxes were created and, more importantly, how to destroy one. Dumbledore had scorched his hand destroying the ring, and the poison he drank just to get to the fake locket had almost killed him.

Also, how had Dumbledore _felt_ magic? Harry had no idea what powers Dumbledore had used in the cave to figure things out, but he needed to learn to do the same thing. He needed, like Dumbledore, to feel the residue of magic and recognize Voldemort's style if he was to have any hope of success. Perhaps if Harry retraced Voldemort's and Dumbledore's steps he could learn something. Harry sighed at the immensity of what was before him. If only he could say one of those silly passwords again, climb the spiral staircase and ask Dumbledore all of the questions swirling in his head. But no, Snape had put an end to that.

_SNAPE!_ He wrote the name in big capital letters at the bottom of the page, going over the letters multiple times, before drawing a jagged flash around it. Then he took the pen and scratched over it until the name was completely obliterated. Lighting the nearest candle, he caught the paper on fire, and watched it burn in his rubbish bin until there was nothing but ashes left.

It was late afternoon. Aunt Petunia still had not returned and Harry, having skipped last night's dinner and breakfast, was hungry. He went down to the kitchen where a note on the table informed him of some left-over chicken in the fridge. Grabbing a drumstick Harry plopped down on the sofa and turned the telly on for company. Some talk show host was interviewing a Buddhist monk in a saffron robe. Harry wasn't listening but instead was imagining how livid his aunt and uncle would be if they caught him eating greasy chicken in the livingroom -- especially when there was a television in the kitchen just for that reason.

Suddenly, the monk's words interrupted his thoughts, ". . . if I tell you _not_ to think about _toffee eclairs _what happens? All you think about _IS_ toffee eclairs. So it doesn't work to _try_ not to think. Instead, slow your thought processes down by becoming aware of your thinking patterns. Accept your thoughts, then simply dismiss them. Once you've succeeded in calming the incessant chatter in your head, _pay attention! _When you really pay attention, you become aware of the energies that are all around you.

"An easy meditation practice is to take an object, like a flower, and hold it in your hand. Now close your eyes. This helps you focus on your other senses. Later this first step won't be necessary. Now smell the flower's fragrance. If you know it's not poisonous, taste it. Listen to the sound of your fingers brushing over the petals. Feel their softness, the stickiness of the pistil, the powdery stamen. Discover everything you can about the flower without _thinking_ about the flower. Now open your eyes and look at the flower – but not how you usually look. See . . . the essence of the flower.

"Remember, don't intellectualize the flower. Leave behind all preconceptions and truly know the flower with all of your senses for what it is. Feel its presence."

A commercial came on, and when the host reappeared he introduced a new guest who insisted he had seen a UFO. The guy sounded sincere. Harry smiled, remembering how he and Ron in his dad's old Ford Anglia could have inspired such notions.

Harry turned the telly off. When the monk was talking, Harry hadn't been thinking about toffee eclairs or flowers. He was picturing Dumbledore in the cave and the quiet way he had figured things out. Dumbledore had always respected other beings and their ways – even Muggles. What if he wasn't using magic at all?

Thinking all this over, he finished the chicken and cleaned up. Better keep his aunt and uncle happy, he just might stay longer than anticipated. After all, he needed to concentrate and there were less distractions here at the moment. He also needed information, but didn't feel like he should leave the house, didn't have any Muggle money and didn't even own a library card.

Harry slammed his wet palm angrily on the counter. _How dare Dumbledore die without teaching me any of this! Why hadn't he at least explained what he was doing in the cave while he was doing it? He could have told me everything about horcruxes. He had all year! Why did he make everything dependent on getting a memory from Slughorn that only confirmed what he already knew? Why didn't he prepare me better! I don't know enough! _

Feeling an overwhelming desire for someone older and wiser to help him, Harry remembered that Dumbledore had told him to tell no one else, to trust no one, but Ron and Hermione. _Well, what did Dumbledore know about who was trustworthy? After all, he had trusted Snape! Why shouldn't I tell Ginny and . . . _

Harry's thoughts came to an abrupt stop. He could not allow thoughts of Ginny. Instead he searched his mind for something to do: _I'll send a note to Hermione. She's visiting her parents and can send me some books on meditation. And there's a computer in Dudley's room. I only fooled around on it a few times back in primary school, but I'm sure if Dud can figure it out, so can I. _And with that Harry sprinted up the stairs.

Three books arrived the next day, followed by five more the following day, and seven on the day after that. Harry quickly sent Hedwig out again to stop the onslaught until further notice. Getting on Dud's computer and the internet was easy. No imagination that boy. He had used his own name as ID and password. Though, Harry skimmed all the books and spent hours on line, what he had heard the monk say, was only reinforced.

Meditation, apparently, was a lot like magic: The directions were deceptively simple. It was the mastering of it that was hard. It required practice. But it did seem exactly like something Dumbledore would do, finding something useful where others wouldn't even look: Like the strange languages that he had spoken, like borrowing wisdom from the merpeople and centaurs, like saying that love was the strongest magic of all, and Harry even remembered that at his very first Hogwarts' banquet, Dumbledore had pronounced music as "a magic beyond all we do here!"

So if practice was what was called for, then Harry would practice. It was how all magic was learned. But how? Harry decided to try for a general feeling of place first. Sitting cross legged on his bed, he closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. It was impossible. Thoughts kept slipping through.

His mind wandered over his furniture. He pictured the desk and chair where he wrote his list every day before burning it. He knew Sirius's mirror was in the top drawer and a pile of _Daily Prophets _were stacked beside the desk on the floor. Next he thought about the closet where his passed-down, outgrown clothes still hung and where many of Dudley's broken and discarded possessions were piled.

He had an image of one particular dull red metal dump truck. It was the first toy he remembered confiscating from Dudley, mainly because Dudley didn't want it anymore. It had lost its wheels and its paint was scraped off so that it was actually more of a dull lead color than red. Harry remembered putt-putting it across the floor under his bed, the bare bulb of the cupboard, casting deep shadows around him. He had an imaginary friend then that he would talk to. Was the truck buried in the closet? He speculated that it probably was.

Harry thought about the knapsack stowed under his bed and the items in it: His wand and a photo he had purchased from Colin after the Gryffindor team's win over Ravenclaw. It showed Ginny in the middle of an erupting crowd, being hoisted up, laughing, snitch in hand, hair flying. Harry forced his mind to move on and instead pictured Dobby jumping up and down on his bed, followed by an image of the fake horcrux in his pocket. He also knew Hedwig was sleeping in her cage in the corner.

And that was the problem, he already _knew_ all of these things. How could he tell if he was feeling energies or just thinking about things he already knew?

The following day, he tried different rooms of the house. In the foyer, he pictured letters flying out of the mail slot, but in the livingroom, he had a vivid image of Dumbledore sitting across from him. He immediately switched to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, besides a horde of letters shooting out of the fireplace, he remembered the Howler and a strange, fuzzy recollection of an owl swooping in causing a commotion when he was really little. He also flashed on Mrs. Figg comforting his aunt.

These were the first inklings that the process may actually be working. He knew of course that Mrs. Figg had been in the kitchen last summer, but he had no idea what transpired. Until now, everything could be attributed to random thoughts and memories skipping through his brain. Even these could be just his imagination, and not instances of picking up on energies. Still, though initially incongruous with Aunt Petunia's character, when he thought about it, he remembered that his aunt had been upset after Mrs. Figg's visit – only he hadn't really thought about it, because Dumbledore's letter had arrived later that same day.

It suddenly occurred to Harry to try his aunt and uncle's room. As far as he knew he had never been in there, so there couldn't be any memories. Uncle Vernon was at work. Aunt Petunia, he had learned, was taking classes at the local college. Her classes ended tomorrow and Dudley was due home from Smeltings at the end of the week. Harry hoped to leave before then. He had no wish to see Dudley again and endure another round of questions. Besides, Ron and Hermione were pestering him with owls every day asking when he was coming.

Harry stood outside the door a moment, then turned the knob. A little surprised that it wasn't locked, he quietly pushed the door open and walked into a rather spare, neat room. He moved slowly as if he didn't want to disturb even the air within. The maple bed was covered with a pristine white chenille bedspread, embroidered with pink flowers above the fringe. Only two items decorated the wall: A mirror over the dressing table and a pastoral painting over the bed. Looking at the bed, he didn't get any feelings of passion, which was a relief. If the process _was_ working, he had dreaded the possibility of a vision of his aunt and uncle being intimate. What he did feel – or imagined – was a sad sort of love built on familiarity and resignation, and a kind of 'us against the world' mentality.

Harry shook his head to clear it and crossed the room to the matching dresser in the far corner. Perched on white doilies were three photos. The first one was a wedding photo of Aunt Petunia in a white gown with a somewhat forced smile. Harry was amazed at how young she looked. If her smile had been sincere, Harry speculated that he might even call her pleasant looking, though plain compared to his mum. The next photo was of his aunt and uncle with a newborn Dudley who resembled nothing more than a pink beach ball in a bonnet. Here the smiles were genuine, and Harry could see that they had actually made a fairly good-looking family at one time. The last one was of the pink beach ball again, his hands and face slathered in icing from a cake with one blue candle on it and the words, "Happy Birthday Dudley!" Harry had a feeling that somehow these photos book-ended the extent of their happiness.

He momentarily wondered if his tragedy had really been their tragedy too, then quickly dismissed the idea. He and his parents had not been given a choice, despite what Dumbledore said. Harry knew his mother, like him, would not have seen it as true choice – being forced to stand aside and do nothing while a loved one died. As for his aunt and uncle, they had chosen the life they were living. Maybe they hadn't wanted to take him in, but they had made so few concessions that he didn't feel it was significant enough to have forced a change in their lives. Besides, no one had made them mistreat and hide the truth from him. No one had made them resent and blame him for all of their problems. Life could have been far different for them all.

Moving around the room to the dressing table, Harry glimpsed a diamond engagement ring resting in a little round crystal dish. So beautifully crafted that he could have sworn it was Goblin made, he carried it to the window for a better look. As it sparked in the sunshine, Harry was startled by an image of his dad, by the lake at Hogwarts, down on one knee, presenting it to his mum. But the image was cloudy and dark as if obscured by black soot or smog. He hastily returned it to its dish.

Harry felt an urgent desire to leave the room. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about invading their private domain. There were things here he didn't want to know. Besides there wasn't much left to look at, and he wondered what purpose it was serving anyway? Even the ring could just be his unease at what he was doing combined with a vivid imagination.

Heading toward the door, he crossed in front of the closet and abruptly stopped. Something was there. He pulled the closet door open, cleared his mind as best he could and moved his hand back and forth in a sweeping motion. He remembered that Dumbledore had used an almost identical movement in the cave. Then it happened. Harry reached to the back and grabbed a shoe box that was behind a bunch of other boxes. He pulled it out, removed the lid and carefully unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal a metal box. On the top left hand corner were the words: "_To Petunia." _Diagonally across it read: "_From Lily." _Between the handwriting there were some pink flowers.

Tears welled in Harry's eyes. He could feel his mum's love. She had loved Aunt Petunia. Odder still, he felt Aunt Petunia had loved her. Additionally, a allure of despair and regret hung in the air. He gently shook the box and heard things shift inside. Holding the box up, he examined all sides. It was seamless. Harry supposed that his mum had made it for his aunt and that it was sealed by a charm of some sort. If he used his wand . . . but no, he was still underage. He would have to come back later if he wanted to see what was inside.

Harry wrapped the box back up and put it away knowing that he wouldn't. He'd love to know more about his mum, and her relationship to Aunt Petunia. Perhaps it would explain why they had not treated him as Dumbledore had requested. But he was also sure he could never violate his aunt's privacy and his mum's trust like that. He was sure of one more thing: He had felt the magical residue of his mum.

Though he needed more practice, Harry was ready for the next step. He would send Hedwig to the Weasleys right away telling them that he would take the Knight Bus tonight and for them to expect him.

* * *

Please review. Thank you. 


	10. Wedding Rings, and Other Things

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and please keep reviewing

* * *

**Wedding** **Rings, and Other Things**

"_**She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. . . . Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive . . ." – Dumbledore, OotP p 836**_

_**. . . he simply knew that the task . . . had to be completed before he could move a little farther along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of him . . . and which he now knew he would have to journey alone. –Harry, HBP p 636**_

_**And Harry saw very clearly . . . how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one . . . all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort . . . – Harry, HBP p 645**_

* * *

As Harry finished cleaning (he had decided not to leave any trace that he had ever been there, since he never expected to return, plus he didn't want a repeat of last year's mistake), Hedwig flew in with an urgent message that he was _NOT, REPEAT NOT_ to take the Knight Bus. He was to wait for a member of the Order to fetch him shortly.

Having already washed and folded the bed linens, he now sat in the chair, absentmindedly scraping at the wax on the desk with his thumbnail. Aunt Petunia was the only one home to see him off, not that he thought they cared any more than he did. When she called up to him, Harry quickly brushed the wax crumbs into the empty rubbish bin, grabbed his pack and Hedwig in her cage, and bolted down the stairs, glad that someone had finally come for him.

His aunt was standing in the living room door, her expression troubled, yet guarded. "Harry, can you come in here please. I want to talk to you before you leave."

Harry placed his bag and Hedwig by the door, followed her into the living room and tentatively positioned himself on the edge of the sofa. Aunt Petunia sat down at the other end, took a small brown envelope out of her apron pocket and slid it toward him across the cushions. It was addressed to Petunia Dursley, in a familiar hand that Harry couldn't quite place at the moment. He opened the envelope, and removed a small box, before glancing up at his aunt.

"They were sent to me after your parents' death. Go on. Open it. We never knew what to do with them. Vernon thought we should sell them. But I couldn't."

Harry lifted the lid. One gold ring was in the box, but when he touched it with the tip of his finger, it slid apart into two rings. Harry picked each one up separately and looked attentively at them. He could feel great love. He laid them on the coffee table and they magnetically or magically moved together and joined into one ring again.

"They're your mum and dad's wedding rings. I think they would have wanted you to have them."

"Where's the other one?" Harry blurted. "There would have been an engagement ring, too!"

Petunia glanced down. Her left hand was on the sofa beside her, hidden from Harry's view.

"Where is it?" Harry angrily shouted, sure of the answer.

Petunia lifted her hand and removed the engagement ring Harry had seen earlier in her room. "Harry," she paused, her voice quivering. She tried again, "Harry, I'm sorry. I know you can't understand this and you'll never forgive me, but we had our reasons for everything we did. The reasons were wrong, I know that now. . . . But Harry, I'm the one you should blame. I'm the only one who knew – was in a position to know . . . and understand. Vernon and Dudley are innocent. There's no way they could have comprehended the consequences of their actions.

When I received the rings after your parents' death, Vernon was trying to move up the corporate ladder. He hadn't bought me an engagement ring. He couldn't afford one. At first, I wore your mum's only to impress Vernon's business connections. Then I started to wear it almost all of the time. I would tell myself that Lily wouldn't mind, after all, I was raising her son for her. But your mother would have minded, because she would have minded how I was raising you."

His aunt held the ring out. Harry took it. It felt like it had earlier. He knew it was his mum's but somehow it felt . . . tainted. Perhaps it was because his aunt had worn it. Perhaps because she had worn it for the wrong reasons. It was just like them not to let their dislike of all things magic stand in the way of money and image. He remembered Vernon's hungry remark last year when Dumbledore mentioned that Harry had inherited a house. He thought of the many dinners to impress business acquaintances where he had been sent to Mrs. Figg's or locked away.

Was this the same ring that once had scratched his check when Aunt Petunia had grabbed and yanked him into his cupboard? He didn't want it.

"Who sent you the rings?"

"I don't know."

"You shouldn't have worn it. I don't want it now. You might as well keep it," Harry said, handing the ring back to her. She looked at him thoughtfully a moment before slipping it back onto her finger.

"Thank you, I . . . your mother would . . . "

"My mother . . ."

The doorbell rang. Harry stood up, turning away from his aunt. He dropped the box of wedding bands into his pocket as he left the room. Grabbing his stuff, he reached for the knob.

"Harry. . ." Aunt Petunia touched his arm from behind. Weariness and sadness edged her voice, and she suddenly sounded much older. "Harry . . . take care."

Harry stiffened, his back toward her, hesitating. He had not anticipated this sudden display of emotion, not after all of these years -- but it was too late. He jerked the door open to see Tonks, leaning against the door jamb, her hair flaming pink.

"Wotcher, Harry. Ready to go? Said your goodbyes an' all?"

Harry glanced back at his aunt standing small and wet-eyed under the hall lamp. "Yeah, I've been ready."

* * *

Bill and Fleur's wedding was a breath of fresh air. It was as though the whole Wizarding world had been submerged in murky waters since Dumbledore's death and now they could finally surface, exhale, and breathe again. Even the Death Eaters appeared to be in shock – as if they were unsure who their enemy now was. There had been no attacks or deaths since Dumbledore's, except a rumour that Narcissa had disappeared from her home in the middle of the night. Some said Voldemort was looking for her. Others said he had killed her.

Remembering Draco, Harry briefly wondered what had happened to him, but it did not occupy his mind for long. There was way too much commotion at the Burrow to actually think about anything! He had never seen the Weasleys in such disarray. It didn't help that Ron was using magic to do every little thing, often with very poor results. With all the confusion and activity, Harry barely had time to turn around, much less explain all that he had learned. And luckily, Ginny was so busy that they rarely crossed paths.

Of course, he couldn't avoid watching her float down the aisle. She had her haired pinned up in curls so that the nape of her neck was visible. Harry was mesmerized. There were these little wispy tendrils of hair that just cried to be kissed. When everyone cheered and clapped as Bill and Fleur exited down the aisle followed by Ginny and Gabrielle, Harry realized he had missed the entire wedding. He sheepishly looked around. One wouldn't need Legilimency to know Harry's heart. He briefly wondered if he was giving up what he most treasured for no real reason, but quickly pushed the thought from his head. Good thing Ron and Hermione had eyes only for each other.

At the reception, everyone was having too much fun for Harry to spoil it by brooding. Ron and Hermione seemed to have left their dreamy mood in the church and were intent on keeping Harry occupied with the help of Fleur's Veela relations who kept asking him to dance and which he found he couldn't refuse. He did occasionally catch sight of Ginny out of the corner of his eye, but she was always headed somewhere and the vision was gone in an instant.

* * *

As soon as things got back to normal at the Burrow, Harry discovered that Ginny was leaving for Hogwarts to complete her O.W.L.s. It seemed the board had decided that a summer session for those who wanted to take their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s would be the best way to judge whether the school should re-open in the fall. Harry hoped Hogwarts would, though he had already sent a message to Headmistress McGonagall stating that he would not be returning.

About a week later Apparition classes started up. Harry chose to skip them. Ron however, signed up and was gone for hours at a time. Hermione had been Apparating to a different Wizard library almost every day since school was out, and continued to do so. When they did find time together they would practice picking up on energies, discuss whatever useful information Hermione had found, and plan their trip to Godric's Hollow. Before he knew it, Harry was celebrating his birthday, followed the next day by another party to celebrate Harry and Ron's passing of their Apparition test. The very next morning, despite Mrs. Weasley's protests, they dressed in Muggle clothes and Apparated to Godric's Hollow to see what they could find.

"It's not safe!" Mrs. Weasley had wailed. "Why do you have to go? Ron, I forbid you to go."

"But Mum, Harry wants to see his parents' graves. We're of age! You can't stop us from going . . ." At the grim look on his Mum's face he quickly added, ". . . at least not Harry and Hermione. . . . And it's safer if we all go. We can look out for each other. You have the clock to keep track of me. If you see that I'm in danger, then you can send someone to help us all. Without me along, you won't know anything that's happening with Harry and Hermione!"

"Merlin's beard, I'll be worried sick. Promise me you'll be really careful and come right back." It didn't seem to occur to any of them that the clock already said "mortal danger" for Ron and had for some time.

Fortunately, there was no trouble. Unfortunately, they didn't find anything either. They sensed where the Potter's cottage had been, and the magical residue of the battle, but that was all. Harry did get to visit his parents' graves. They had a single headstone and yes, he noticed that there was a lily carved on it, but it was otherwise oddly devoid of any feeling. That surprised him. Now that he recognized the feel of energies, he was sure he had felt Dumbledore's presence at his grave stone last June. Maybe, there was nothing here because his mum and dad had died so long ago.

Just a few days later, during dinner, they got their lists of supplies for school. Apparently, Ron had been hoping that Hogwarts would close, because he hadn't informed his parents that he wasn't planning to return. Everything was made more complicated by the fact that there was a note accompanying Ron's list stating that if Harry definitely wasn't attending, then Ron would be Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, that is, if enough students returned to make house teams feasible. Plus Ron and Hermione had made Head Boy and Head Girl. Mrs. Weasley was absolutely gushing one minute, and arguing with Harry the next, when Ron blurted, "Mum, please, give it a rest! _It doesn't matter!_ None of us are going back. We're going to help Harry."

Harry had never seen Mr. and Mrs. Weasley so upset. It turned into quite a row. For over an hour Mrs. Weasley jumped between furiously scolding Ron and imploring him, betrayal and anger swirling in her eyes. Eventually, Ron stomped out and Harry could hear him all of the way up the long staircase to his room. Mrs. Weasley turned her accusing eyes on Harry, then Hermione, and lastly, her husband. Harry wanted to say he was sorry, but couldn't speak, his stomach was twisting so wildly. Hermione dropped her fluid eyes, her lips trembling. Mr. Weasley, who had grown quiet as his wife became increasingly agitated, softly uttered, "Molly, dear . . ." but was cut off by Mrs. Weasley violently jerking her hand skyward, sending all of the dishes crashing to the floor before sweeping from the room.

Harry didn't dare look at Mr. Weasley for fear of what he would see. He could feel his eyes on him. He stumbled out into the garden, and stared, blinking at the stars. It was all his fault. What a horrible way to repay their kindness. _Does everyone I care about have to suffer, sacrifice . . . even die because of me? _Much later when Harry lumbered up the steps and into the room he shared with Ron, he found that Ron had ripped all of his Cannons posters off of the wall.

Ron was in bed, his rigid back turned toward the door, pretending to be asleep.

"I'm sorry. I really wish you and Hermione would return to Hogwarts. . . . Please. . . it would be the best thing all around. I . . . I really think I'm meant to do this on my own. After all, I'm the chos . . ."

Harry didn't get to finish. Ron twisted over in his bed, his face contorted with rage. "Will you just shut up, already! Am I your best mate or not? I'm so tired of your high and mighty attitude. You think you're the only one with a gripe against Voldemort!" Ron spat the word out without his usual hesitation. "You think you're the only one with something to lose! Well, you're not! So just shut up!"

* * *

"Bloody hell! I'll never get the hang of cooking," Ron complained two days later as he placed a piece of burnt toast on each of their plates. Mrs. Weasley wailed whenever she saw any of them and had taken to her room. She no longer cooked their meals or did any of the cleaning. She had told them that if they weren't going to go to school, then they had better learn to fend for themselves.

Harry had used some of his money to purchase food. (He had never really considered Wizard economics before: how he had to buy some things and could conjure others out of the air. Now he understood that conjuring could either be a tangible illusion or a method of calling to you items you already owned, were "purchasing on credit," borrowing, or taking – i.e. stealing.)

Cooking was proving more difficult. "I think she's angrier at me than she ever was at Percy! She was already upset because Ginny didn't do quite as well as expected on her O.W.L.s. – probably your fault, mate." Ron shot Harry a disgruntled glance. "So when I made Captain and Head Boy . . . Blimey! I wonder how long she can keep this up? It's not like I don't like Hogwarts, like I didn't always dream of being Captain. Of course, they only gave it to me because you, and a lot of others, aren't going back. For Merlin's sake, I thought they would understand how important this is!"

"How, can they?" Hermione interjected. "We can't tell them anything about the horcruxes. We haven't told them _anything_ that they _can_ understand. Listen though, I've been thinking, maybe we should all return to school . . ."

"Hermione! We have to help Harry!"

"No, Hermione is right," Harry quickly added. "I never meant for you to leave school. It's not fair. Ron, this is exactly what you've always wanted, what you saw in the Mirror of Erised. And Hermione, I know how important school is to you. Not finishing will affect your whole future."

"Go on! We won't have a future if we don't get rid of You-Know-Who!" Ron insisted, his voice rising. "Wait a minute. . . does this mean . . . yeah, of course, you wanted to be an Auror – you need to be an Auror – and you can't be an Auror if you don't pass your N.E.W.T.s with top grades."

"Not according to Scrimgeour. If I threw in my lot with him I could be an Auror tomorrow," Harry answered. "But I've been thinking Dumbledore had it right. A job with the Ministry is not for me anyway."

"Listen, we can all return to Hogwarts, and still search for the horcruxes. We're of age and able to Apparate now," Hermione pointedly said. "Hogwarts is still one of the safest places, plus we will be learning things we might need. They have the best library I know of, and believe me I know all the libraries within Apparating distance. And, . . . and Harry, Dumbledore told you that there's a lot of old magic there. It's a resource that we shouldn't squander."

"Right, you two return to Hogwarts . . . no, hear me out," Harry hastily added to stave off Ron's and Hermione's protests. "I . . .I just can't . . . not yet, anyway. I'll go to Grimmauld Place where I'll be safe. If I discover anything worthy, we'll go during a school break if there's no rush. If there is, we'll figure out a way to get you two out of classes.

"In the meantime, learn everything you can that might be of help, especially how to destroy a horcrux. I'll join the Order. I'm sure Professor McGonagall will have them patrolling Hogwarts again. Later in the year, I'll get myself assigned there on a regular basis. By then, I'm sure I'll be able to manage short stays. They'll consider it a relatively safe job for me. We can exchange information, and you can teach me any important stuff that you've learned. And," Harry added tossing the piece of burnt toast into the rubbish, "they have great food!"

Ron offered one more objection, though Harry could tell by his demeanor that a weight had been lifted. "What if you figure out something in the middle of the night and you have to get there quickly because you know You-Know-Who is on his way and you don't have time to wait for us?"

Hermione smiled, "I'm sure the Order will help, if you told them that you're trying to learn everything you can about Voldemort, which is the truth and obviously necessary. If you needed a book, let's say, or someone to Apparate to Hogsmeade to get us, I'm sure they would offer their assistance. Or, of course, in the event of Ron's very _likely_ scenario." Hermione winked at Harry.

They all laughed.

"Okay, that's settled." Hermione said as if they had all agreed.

Harry was pleased. He was concerned about endangering his friends and had been searching for a way to discourage them ever since last spring. Now that Dumbledore was gone, Harry had realized that he was meant to do this on his own. At Grimmauld Place he would be free to come and go as necessary, while his friends remained safe at Hogwarts. Besides, he didn't expect any immediate outings to be any more fruitful or dangerous than Godric's Hollow had been.

* * *

Harry went along when they all Apparated to Diagon Alley. He would need money, and they had planned an excursion to Borgin & Burkes to see what they could find. Ron told the greasy haired proprietor that he was looking for a dainty cup, or perhaps a locket, as a present for his girlfriend, and otherwise kept him distracted. Harry, under his Invisibility Cloak, and Hermione rummaged through all of the shelves, and opened all of the drawers and boxes, careful to read the cards and touch only those things that were non-toxic. They found plenty that made their skin crawl, but nothing that caused Harry's scar to burn. Harry crossed one more possibility, for now, off his mental list.

Having got that ordeal out of the way, they decided they needed cheering up with a stop at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. They also needed to pick up Ginny's school supplies. She had talked Professor McGonagall into letting her stay at Hogwarts between the summer and fall sessions as an assistant to Hagrid for extra credit. Professor McGonagall had agreed, seeing as how Ginny's test scores honestly did not reflect the quality of work she'd done in the past.

A short week later, Harry was seeing them off at King's Cross. Ron and Hermione, as Head Boy and Girl were travelling by train again.

"Here, you might need this." There was an odd feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach as he shoved the Marauders' Map into Ron's hand. "Send me the Quidditch schedule and I'll try to time my visits so that I'm there to watch the games."

Harry then turned to Hermione who threw her arms around him and began to sob on his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. Just get me the info I need, and look after this knucklehead," Harry said nodding in Ron's direction. "And make sure Ginny is all right, will you?"

Hermione pulled back and nodded. Grabbing Ron's arm she mumbled, "We better get to the front of the train. It's about to leave. Goodbye, Harry. Remember you promised not to do anything without us," she said over her shoulder as they hurried away.

Harry didn't answer. He hadn't promised any such thing.

* * *

Please review.


	11. Raven's Roost

A/N: Come on, please review

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**Raven's Roost**

"_**But they could be anywhere in the world – hidden – buried or invisible–" – Harry, HBP p 503**_

"_**. . . Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was . . . the first and only place he had felt at home. . . . Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic." – Dumbledore, HBP p 431**_

"_**Do you think that's why he really wanted to come back to Hogwarts, sir?" said Harry. "To try and find something from one of the other founders?" – Harry, HBP p 505**_

* * *

Harry settled in, as settled as one could be in such a circumstance. At first, everyone tried to convince him to return to Hogwarts, especially Professor McGonagall, who dropped by specifically to talk some sense into Harry. When they realized he was adamant, he was welcomed into the Order with a little trepidation, that quickly passed when he appeared content to stay put and fulfill Sirius's old duties. There were whispered conversations that abruptly ceased when he entered the room, and Harry figured some of them were speculating why he wasn't more eager to be out fighting Voldemort, though, no one, of course, encouraged him.

Quite the contrary. They searched for ways to keep him occupied around the house. He soon was busy logging the Order's reports as incidents were again increasing. Mrs. Weasley gave him some cooking and cleaning lessons so that he could prepare simple meals, and keep the place reasonably neat. And, at least, Harry thought, I'm better off than Sirius was. I don't have Snape ragging on me and egging me on.

Luckily, Harry received frequent owls from Hermione. He learned that Professor McGonagall had been unable to find a new DADA teacher, and instead Aurors were giving guest lectures and demonstrations. Whenever they were available, and as a personal favor, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, or one of the professors, taught any classes that were not otherwise covered. On the increasingly frequent days when no one was available, they read from their book -- reminiscent of the days of Umbridge. Harry figured he was learning more out of school than in. The Order apparently had decided it was their duty to prepare him as best they could. Harry received an impromptu lesson in something or other, whenever any member was at Grimmauld Place between assignments.

In her spare time, Hermione was evidently reading every book in the library, and relating nearly half of what they said in her long posts. Plus, she was including much of what they were learning in class. Harry didn't mind. They helped to pass the time and contained loads of useful information. It made Harry feel like he was doing something.

Ron was using his free time to do a thorough search of Hogwarts with the help of the Marauder's Map. Together, he and Hermione had managed to open, and search, a number of up-to-then-unknown locked rooms, and Ron had explored numerous new tunnels. They had even discovered that each common room had a secret "back door" used by the house elves. Hermione bemoaned the fact that they hadn't known about them earlier. They could have skipped that whole embarrassing episode with the Polyjuice.

Most disturbing was her news of Ginny. Hermione didn't say much, only that Ginny was hardly ever around, and when she was, she kept to herself. Most of the time she seemed to be helping Hagrid, or wandering the grounds. Only during Quidditch practice did she seem fired up to her old glorious, gregarious self.

It wasn't until the third week of September that Harry had an opportunity to get away. Toward evening, there was a report of an attack by some Death Eaters, including Voldemort, and the Order went to help. Knowing that everyone was preoccupied, Harry decided it was a safe time to Apparate to the cliff above the cave, and then backtrack down the path to the village, where the orphans had stayed on holiday. There was nothing to be found there, not a single feeling of magic. Though disappointed, Harry was glad that he managed to have some food ready when the beleaguered Order staggered in.

Harry sat stiffly, taking notes in the log, while they each related what had happened, and speculated on their differing perceptions. Fortunately, though bruised and bloody, the worse injury was a long gash above Lupin's eye. The Order had fared better than others, Harry grimly noted, as he recorded the known deaths on both sides. He angrily scolded himself. He wasn't doing enough. He would have to work faster than he was, even if it meant taking more risk.

It was a relief when Hedwig returned the following day with another post from Hermione. She had finally tracked down the names of twenty-nine children who had been in the orphanage during the time Tom Riddle was there. She also included the names of three staff members. He noted quickly that Mrs. Cole was dead, as expected, and had never had any children. Near the top of the list, he found Amy Benson, who was also dead, but had a daughter living in Neath. Below her name was Dennis Bishop. He was alive and living in Kilmarnock. Further down the list, Billy Stubb, whose rabbit was hung by Riddle, was living in Harrow. Harry ignored the names of children that would have been under four when Tom was eleven.

There were thirteen people in all that were still alive and living in Britain. Harry decided he also wanted to check out Amy's daughter, so that brought the total to fourteen. Included in the post was the location of where the orphanage had been. It had long ago been torn down and replaced with another business, but Harry wanted to visit the site anyway. Well he had best get busy.

Harry got caught after his third outing. On entering Grimmauld Place, he found Mrs. Weasley frantic. No sooner had he withstood her tirade, when he found himself surrounded by the disapproving and distressful faces of the rest of the Order as they returned from searching for him. Harry had no choice. He could not stand the pain that showed on their faces, and he was sure they would never trust him alone again if he didn't explain himself. He remembered what Hermione had suggested.

"I'm sorry. It's just that . . . you know . . . Voldemort is after me, so I will probably meet up with him someday. . . . It was actually a suggestion Dumbledore made before he died. . . ."

"Dumbledore suggested you sneak out and scare us half to death?" Mrs. Weasley huffed.

"Well, no, not that. He suggested that it would be wise to learn everything possible about him . . . Voldemort, that is, and Hermione sent me . . ."

"Hermione is involved in this? Well, then of course, Ron . . . where's my quill! I have a Howler to send," Mrs. Weasley snorted.

"No, please," Harry pleaded. "All she did was send me the names and addresses of the Muggles who were in the orphanage with Voldemort when he was a child. And all I'm doing is talking to a few old Muggles about what they remember. Nothing dangerous." Harry raised his voice to be heard over their murmur of descent. "I'm sorry, I should have told you. Now that you know, I could use your help. Please. I don't know where half of these places are, and I'm not sure how to Apparate there if I don't know where I'm going. I promise I won't leave here again without telling you."

Mrs. Weasley's indignation turned out to be easy to bear, compared to Ron's and Hermione's. "YOU PROMISED!" Hermione screamed from the fire. Apparently, Professor McGonagall had been easily persuaded to allow them the means to scold him.

With the help of Tonks, Lupin and Mrs. Weasley, Harry managed to interview the remaining names by the third week in October. Everyone remembered Tom Riddle, and Harry was aghast at some of the stories he heard. Since he didn't know how to employ Legilimency, Tonks taught him a simple charm that increased a Muggle's trust, since most of them, even after all these years, were reluctant to talk. Harry concocted a story about being a cub reporter, assigned to get background on Tom Riddle, who was a suspect in a murder investigation. No one questioned the alias. No one was surprised that Tom could commit murder. During each interview he would ask to use the loo, and with the help of his Invisibility Cloak, would search for any magical objects. In every case, he rejoined his outlook empty handed, if not empty headed. He had a more complete picture than ever of what Voldemort was capable of.

The interviews over, Harry was again restless, and requested to be assigned to patrolling Hogwarts. The Order eagerly agreed, Mrs. Weasley being the most agreeable. Harry was sure that she secretly hoped that he would decide to stay. It was not yet so far into the term that he couldn't catch up, with some personal tutoring. Harry arrived just in time for Halloween weekend in Hogsmeade, to be followed by the feast on Sunday night. With his duties not scheduled to begin until Monday morning, Harry had the weekend free.

Harry, Ron and Hermione enjoyed a butterbeer at the Hog's Head, careful not to discuss anything important. Then, with the help of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry searched the back rooms and upstairs, while Ron and Hermione created a diversion by having a lover's spat. After that, they visited the Shrieking Shack.

Since it was still early, they then decided to explore as much of Hogsmeade as they could in the time left. There were many streets and alleys they had never been down before. They walked around silently, trying to attune themselves to the vibrations around them. Harry had decided to remain under his Invisibility Cloak so that he could more easily approach any house that felt weird. There were a number that gave them the creeps, but nothing that made his scar burn. Harry would have been disappointed if he wasn't having so much fun just hanging with his friends.

Professor McGonagall had given Harry permission to stay in Gryffindor Tower while he was there. The day having passed without any overwhelming bouts of melancholy, and at the persistent urging of Ron and Hermione, Harry eventually accepted. Harry hadn't realized how much he missed his friends, and Hogwarts, until he was in his old bed. It had been a long day, one of the best in quite a while. And next week he would get to see Gryffindor play against Hufflepuff.

That night Harry dreamed of Dumbledore.

_Welcome home, Harry. I was wondering when you would visit me. _

_You're here?_

_Yes, yes, that I am. _

_But you're dead. Snape . . ._

_Professor Snape, Harry. He has his own destiny. His own job to do. _

_How can you . . . HE MURDERED YOU! _

_Professor Snape did as he was meant to do. Do not concern yourself. _

_But . . ._

_Harry._

_How can you be here? Did you choose not to cross over? Ron and Hermione would have told me if you were floating around like Nearly Headless Nick. _

_No, I went on. I'm here with Lily and James. They send their love._

_Mum and Dad? Then, . . . then how?_

_Harry, you already know. I heard you tell our Minister of Magic that as long as there are those that are loyal to me I will never be gone. Remember when I told you Voldemort was too busy splitting his soul to have any idea of the power of a whole soul?_

_Yes._

_I love Hogwarts. Like you, it was my home from the day I first entered as a child. I will always be here. And it didn't take any soul-splitting or magic, . . . other than the magic of love._

_Professor, I need to ask you . . ._

_No Harry. There is no need. Everything you need is already within you. Now rest my boy. There is still much that is asked of you. But not tonight. Tonight, sleep peacefully. Pleasant dreams._

But Harry didn't have pleasant dreams. He dreamed that he was again chasing Snape across the lawn. Then, he was on the ground with Snape sneering over him. "Once again Potter, your life is in my hands. How many times in the past have I saved you? And yet you remain ungrateful. All I ever hear is 'Dumbledore.' Well, he's not here now. So shall I spare you yet again? If I do will you finally _thank me?" _Harry woke, anger rising in him as it did every time he thought of Snape.

Though Harry had adamantly focused on Voldemort, and finding the horcruxes, Snape had been a continual nagging undercurrent. Now that he was at Hogwarts, Snape's old haunt, it was time to do something about him. Harry broached the subject at breakfast, leaning in to whisper to his friends. "I'm not going to Hogsmeade today. I have to search the castle."

"Go on, Harry, I've been searching the castle for months. I know it with my eyes closed," Ron moaned.

"And we didn't finish Hogsmeade. Shouldn't we finish there first? It's so beautiful out today," Hermione pleaded.

"You two can go if you want. I need to search Snape's rooms – do you know what they did with his stuff after . . . after he left. I also need to retrieve his potions book." Harry whispered.

"Harry, you can't let revenge sidetrack you. And Harry, that _book_ . . ."

Harry cut Hermione off. "Snape is Voldemort's most trusted servant. We are bound to run into him again. The more we know about him the better. There's a lot of info in that book, including some spells that he might use against us. Now, have you been in his office and his room?"

"No. His office was sealed, and I don't know which room was his," Ron muttered.

"I think I do. I can show you on the Marauder's Map where he often was when he wasn't in his office, class or prowling the corridors," Harry said. "And with a little time I'm sure we can get the office unlocked. Everyone else will be at Hogsmeade and I have my cloak if we need it."

An hour later they were ransacking Snape's old office. It had barely taken Hermione fifteen minutes to figure out the locking charm. They were surprised more care hadn't been taken. It seemed it had been locked in a hurry after Snape fled with the simple intent to keep nosy students out, but with the notion that someone would officially seal the room later as evidence. Harry had a momentary vision of a memo falling behind someone's desk and getting lost.

The room looked exactly as it had when Hermione last was in it. Even the chair was still upturned as it had been when Professor Flitwick had fallen. Hermione rummaged through the drawers of Snape's desk where she found a number of graded essays from last year, but no personal items. Ron and Harry searched behind all the jars on the shelves, wondering what half of the contents were. Hermione moved on to flipping through books, setting a number aside that she wanted to read. Harry tried unsuccessfully to unlock a cabinet in the corner. Hermione eventually glanced up from a book, took aim, and the cabinet flew open.

"How'd you do that?" Harry asked. Hermione shrugged, her nose back in another book. Ron joined Harry in searching the cabinet.

"I'll take these," Ron said, grabbing a handful of bezoars and stuffing them in his pocket. "They can come in handy." Harry picked up two small vials shaking them so that the contents swirled.

"What're those?"

"I think they're memories. Like Dumbledore showed me. Now all we need is a Pensieve," said Harry, pocketing them. "Maybe I can get one next time I go to Diagon Alley. Hermione, you can't take all of those. Someone will notice. Put them back and let's go." Harry looked around the room. "There's nothing else here."

Frowning, Hermione stuffed five books into her bag and put the others back, arranging them so that there were no obvious gaps on the shelf.

Harry asked Ron for the Marauder's Map. "Look here, in this corner," Harry pointed. "That's where he most often was late at night. And look, there's a secret passageway. We're standing right by its opening. I think it's behind this cabinet."

While Hermione resealed the office door from the inside, Ron and Harry easily pushed the cabinet aside. They then crept down a long, narrow staircase, descending further and further into the bowels of the castle, until they found themselves brushing past a few old starched robes deep in the back of a dark closet. A path, barely big enough for a skinny person to shimmy through, snaked between neat stacks of additional specimens and boxed potion ingredients. They pushed past the boxes and through the closet door, the light from their wands casting long shadows over the sparse, windowless room.

Hermione spotted a single, tall, floor candelabra in the corner, between the desk and an armchair, and lit it. The light illuminated a crystal glass, a delicate china sugar bowl, and a rune-slotted silver spoon on the corner of the old battered desk, and a book on the threadbare armchair. Hermione reached for the book. Harry headed to the small bureau that occupied the wall next to the door, and began rummaging through the drawers. Ron, surveying the rest of the room, decided to leave the bookcase to Hermione, and crossed to the single bed in the far corner. After ascertaining that only a pair of slippers were under the bed, he began feeling between the mattresses.

A small exclamation of surprise from Hermione caused Ron and Harry to look up.

"What?" Ron asked.

"This book. It's a book of short stories and poetry by Edgar Allen Poe. He's a Muggle. It fell open to a poem called, _The Raven_."

"A poetry book? . . . Snape reads poetry? Flowery stuff 'n love 'n all? Eww!" Ron grimaced. "Are you sure it's his? He doesn't strike me as the type."

"It's his," Hermione answered, after flipping to the front of the book. "Someone inscribed it. It says 'To My Dearest Prince, Thank you for a wonderful holiday. I thought you might enjoy E.A.P. Love Always, P.A.E.'"

"Dearest Prince? Let me see." Harry took the book and held it under the candelabra to better read the inscription. He thought the writing looked oddly familiar. "E.A.P. would be Edgar Allen Poe. I wonder who P.A.E. is?"

"Oh please, I still haven't a clue as to R.A.B.," Hermione moaned.

"Ewww. Someone loved Snivelly and gave him love poetry to read? Wait 'til I tell Fred and George," Ron looked over Harry's shoulder at the book he was still examining in the candlelight.

"Grow up, Ron! Poetry can be very nice. And not all of it is flowery or about love. Though _The Raven _is about lost love, it's also extremely dark and brooding," Hermione said, heading over to the bookcase.

"What else is here? There's not much more time," Harry said, slipping the book into his robe. Ron pulled the desk drawers open and rifled through what looked like teaching syllabuses. Harry picked up the glass. There was a dried ring of opalescent white where the dregs had dried. Harry scraped at it getting a little powder under his fingernail. It had a faint bitter smell.

"Hey, look at this." Ron pulled a bottle out of the back of the lowest drawer. He held it up to the light where it glowed emerald green. "It says it is something called 'Absinthe made with pure Wormwood.'" He turned the bottle over. "Listen to this, 'Preserver of the Mind. Excellent for indigestion, flatulence and nerves. Also counteracts the effects of poisoning by hemlock, toadstools and the biting of the sea dragon. Its beautiful pure emerald color will turn to an appealing cloudy opalescent white when mixed with water. Poisonous if taken in excess.' I wonder if he was drinking it for flatulence? Wait 'til I tell . . ."

"Ron!" Hermione shoved some books into his arms, forcing him to set the bottle down. "I have what I need. Anything else?"

"No," Harry said. "I reckon we should leave by the way we came. No use disturbing the sealing spells here if we don't have to. And I don't think you should have all these books in your room. We'll stop by the Room of Requirement and drop them off while I retrieve the potions book."

Inside the Room of Requirement, Harry had little trouble finding the cabinet with the bust on top wearing a wig and tiara. He took Snape's book out and indicated that Hermione and Ron should place their loads of books where it had been. Passing a stack of dusty books on the way out, Hermione stopped.

"Come on Hermione. The feast will be starting soon," Ron whined.

"Harry, I've been so stupid searching the library. We know that horcruxes are a banned subject. I won't find anything there. But these . . ." she waved her arm indicating the piles of dusty books all around them. "If someone wanted to hide a forbidden book. . . . Harry," her voiced dropped to an awed whisper, "this is just down the hall from Dumbledore's office."

"Well, yeah," Harry said, not sure where Hermione was headed.

"Remember Dumbledore showed you that memory when Voldemort wanted to teach? What if Dumbledore was wrong? What if Voldemort didn't want to _find_ something? What if he wanted to _hide _something? It fits. Hogwarts was a very meaningful place to him."

"But the diary . . ." Harry began.

"Lucius Malfoy planted the diary on Ginny," Ron interjected.

Harry looked around the room. "I feel lots of magic here. It'll take forever."

"Better than not knowing where to look at all. It's not that hard to learn to feel powerful magic. I'll teach a few trusted friends from the old DA. There's a lot of just broken stuff in here too. They can help sort. I'll tell them we are searching for anything that has powerful magic because we may be able to use it against Voldemort. Ron and I will then sort through the powerful items they find. We'll pull aside any likely candidates, and you can check them out whenever you are here."

Ron groaned. "You really know how to have fun, don't you?" Harry knew Ron was thinking of all the hours he could be snogging with Hermione instead of sorting through grimy and broken junk. "Can we at least go to the feast now? I'm starving!"

* * *

Next up: What has Ginny been up to?

Please review. I've spent loads of time working on this story and I need to know what you think about it. Constructive criticism especially desired.


	12. Secret Schemer

A/N: Thanks, Mikee for alerting me that I was not allowing anonymous reviews. I am still learning the ins and outs of this website. Anyway, I have now changed the setting, so if there was anyone who wanted to review but was unable to before, please give it a try now. And thank you everyone who has reviewed.

* * *

**The Secret Schemer**

"_**You do them a disservice . . . You need your friends, Harry." – Dumbledore, HBP p 78**_

_**She met Harry's gaze with the same hard, blazing look that he had seen when she had hugged him after winning the Quidditch Cup . . . --HBP p 646**_

"_**. . . it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power." – Dumbledore, SS p 298**_

* * *

Ginny waited in Professor McGonagall's office. She had received an urgent message from the Headmistress telling her to report immediately and to wait there until she arrived. Ginny had only been in the office once before. At the end of her first year, Professor Dumbledore had asked to see her.

At that time, he had been fussing with his beard and hair when Ginny entered, and had playfully held the brush aloft, "Ah, Miss Weasley, you caught me sprucing up. I always like to look my best when I'm expecting a pretty guest. Have a seat and please excuse me one moment more, if you will." With that he picked up a small silver hand mirror, mumbling softly as he ran the brush over the back of his head before placing the mirror and brush in the bottom drawer. "Clever mirror that. Lets me check the back and sides as well as the front."

He paused, making a steeple with his fingers, his blue eyes focusing on hers. "Now then Miss Weasley, I've been wondering if you have any questions about what happened to you? But first, how have you been feeling?"

"Fine."

"Really?" he murmured over his fingers. In the following silence, tears welled in Ginny's eyes and tumbled down her cheek.

"I feel . . . dirty, . . . contaminated. I feel like it's my fault, like I _let_ him do it. There's a part of me that thinks thoughts I'm ashamed of. Thoughts that scare me."

"Yes, I feared as much. I believe it will fade with time. You do understand you are not to blame? Tom Riddle, or as most people know him, Lord Voldemort, has forced many, well-trained, powerful, wizards to do his bidding."

"Yes, but . . . the thoughts . . ." whatever words Ginny wanted did not come to her. She looked away, then down, embarrassed and shamed as the tears increased.

Dumbledore contemplated his hands until Ginny quieted, wiped her eyes and composed herself. When she glanced up again, he caught her gaze and held it. Ginny had a feeling he was looking deep within her. When he spoke, his words, though kind, had the air of a command, a decision having been made. "I think great evil like Voldemort's leaves a residue on all it touches. The loss of innocence so young is always tragic, but I have complete confidence that you will conquer and control any . . . _foreign_ impulses."

"Do you mean that . . . that I have some sort of . . . Riddle slime on me . . . that makes . . . wants . . . me to think bad things? How do I get it off of me?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Great description! Riddle Slime!" Ginny smiled slightly, feeling less self-conscious. But when Dumbledore continued, his voice was grave. "Yes, Ginny, in essence you do have Riddle slime on you, and I wish there was a way to just wipe it off, but there isn't. We all have the ability to do evil within us. Your recognition of this has simply been magnified. I suggest you dispel its influence by choosing the opposite, thus making it inconsequential."

"How?"

"Try love. It works for Harry." He studied her puzzled expression. "I've heard it rumored that you have a crush on him?" Ginny blushed. "Why do you like him? Because he is famous or handsome, perhaps?"

"Oh no, not for those reasons," Ginny turned redder.

Dumbledore smiled, "Perhaps because he is pure-hearted? Well, Harry has been touched by Voldemort too. You now have that in common. I trust that you will follow your own heart as Harry does his. If so, I do not think there will be any lasting effects. But, you must always be on guard and believe only those ideas and feelings that ring true within your own heart."

----------

Ginny smiled up at the portrait of a sleeping Professor Dumbledore on the wall behind the desk. She had certainly learned to follow her own heart. That was probably why she was here now. Lately, her heart had been leading her down many strange and unauthorized paths.

Ever since the beginning of the summer term she had taken to spending time alone out on the grounds. At the beginning, she merely needed to fume at Harry, and then at Voldemort -- with a little bit of self-pity wallowing thrown in. On the third day though, she happened upon Professor Dumbledore's wand _(perhaps Professor McGonagall had found out and that's why she was here)_ in the bushes near the Astronomy Tower. That's when she began to plot.

She hadn't argued with Harry when he had broken up with her. Nor had she cried. Both were a waste of time, though she was angry at Harry for acting like he was the only one with a grudge against Voldemort. It was also naive to think that by staying away from each other, they could ever fool him. She was in danger no matter what, as was everyone she loved. And everyone, including Harry, underestimated her if they thought she was going to sit idly by while they did the fighting. If the only way to have Harry back, was to get rid of Voldemort, then that was just what she was going to do. And if Harry thought Voldemort would use her as bait, then she would just bait the trap herself. She preferred fighting on her own terms.

During the summer, she purposely swam often in the lake. Using Moaning Myrtle as an emissary, she made contact with some merkids, and developed a tentative friendship. Slowly she was learning their language.

Taking an interest in magical creatures and becoming Hagrid's assistant gave her access to the forest. With Harry gone, and Ron and Hermione busy, Hagrid had been glad to befriend her. She had already learned how to call the thestrals and where the unicorns were most likely to be found. She knew which paths to take to Fluffy and to Buckbeak and to avoid the path that led to the acromantulas. She even knew the clearing where her dad's old turquoise Ford Anglia hung out. By regularly accompanying Hagrid on his visits to Grawp, she had learned the shortcut through the forest to the caves, and the spell Hagrid used to let them out of Hogwarts and back in again.

Often she explored deeper into the forest than she knew was allowed. _(Maybe that was why she was here, since it was not allowed at all.) _Always she felt eyes upon her, but pretended not to notice. Eventually, it paid off. Just last week a young centaur had pranced from the starkness of the snow outlined trees onto the path before her. Ginny waited silently, she had heard enough about them from Hermione to know that it was wise to give them deference.

"I've been watching you. Why do you come here?" the centaur gruffly asked.

"I help Hagrid," Ginny replied.

"You are not helping him now. He is not with you. _Why – are – you – here?_" He emphasized each word with a strike of his right front hoof slicing through snow.

Ginny ignored the slightly veiled intimidation. "I love the forest. It's always changing. Today it is so quiet, except, . . . there is something just beyond my hearing. Perhaps it is blood coursing through my own veins, or the trees whispering to each other, or . . . the earth spinning." Ginny raised her arms skyward, her face shining with awe. She hadn't realized how deeply she had grown to love the forest until asked to put words to it. "I don't understand, yet, but I want to learn. It's so beautiful."

He shifted his weight nervously, his hoofs barely making a sound as they compacted more snow. "Others watch you too. They do not like you coming here. They want you to stay away."

"And you? What do you want?"

The centaur eyed her suspiciously, his tail swishing as he shied away. Ginny waited in silence. Eventually, he sidestepped closer. "I want you to give a message to Firenze for me. Tell him the Elders are saying the stars are against us. A great catastrophe is coming. Fire will rain from the skies. Wind will drive the waters from the lake. Firenze is most gifted at deciphering the stars. Ask him if he sees the same thing and what he thinks we must do. Come tomorrow. Tell me what he says. And . . . and tell him that his nephew Jupac misses him."

Ginny did as requested. She had met Jupac already twice since then. _(Perhaps Firenze had tattled on her._)

Then there was the fact that she had started up the D.A. again. There was no consistency in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. There was almost as little practical exercise as there had been under Umbridge. Though Ginny had always excelled in the subject, she excluded asking any seventh years to join, knowing they would most likely resent learning from someone younger. But many others were delighted for any chance to experiment and practice. She spent a lot of time practicing by herself, then helping the other members to perfect the spells that would prepare them for battle.

And if it wasn't that, then maybe it was the painstaking search of the Room of Requirement. Though if it was, she thought Professor McGonagall ought to have included Ron and Hermione, and they had already Apparated from Hogsmeade to spend the Christmas holidays with Harry. Ginny had decided to remain at Hogwarts. She had lots to do.

Then, again, there was also the ingredients she had pilfered from Snape's office for the potions she was secretly brewing.

A sudden thought occurred to her. Ginny opened the door slightly and listened intently for anyone on the stairs. Hearing nothing, she quickly went around the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The silver brush and mirror were still there. Ginny held the brush up and picked at the bristles.

"Ahem."

Ginny jumped. Professor Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were staring down at her from the wall. "It is not usually considered proper manners to go through another's drawers uninvited," the portrait offered.

"Oh, sorry, Professor, it's just . . . is this your hair, sir?" she asked pulling out a long silver strand.

"Probably. As far as I know I am the only one to have ever used that brush. Minerva couldn't bear to throw it out. I'm very touched by her sentiment. Is that why you desire a strand of my hair?"

"Not exactly, sir. I have a plan to help Harry defeat Voldemort."

"Really? I'd love to hear more. Does Harry know about it?"

"Well no, sir. We aren't exactly talking at the moment. He dumped me because he thinks Voldemort will use me to get to him. He tries to protect us all, but he can't."

"Ah . . . I understand. I once mentioned to Harry that he should trust his friends. I meant to elaborate on the idea . . . I suppose I needed a little more time. I wanted to explain that I find people live up to the trust I place in them, but trust is not the same thing as unrealistic expectations. I may expect great things, but I'm careful to align my expectations with their character – their abilities, strengths . . . even their weaknesses. In other words, a hound will always be a hound. He will chase after rabbits, maul, kill, eat what he wants and leave the rest to rot if I expect nothing else of him. But a hound can also be extremely loyal, and I can turn his impulses to good if he knows I expect him to bring the rabbit home so all can eat. He then is completely trustworthy. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"I think so. But sir, isn't a rat then, always a rat? Take Snape for instance . . . "

"Professor Snape, Ginny."

"No, NO! NEVER! HE MURDERED YOU!"

"Did he? I only remember up to . . . that's the limitation of being a portrait, I only know what happened before I _actually_ died, and of course, what I hear in this room or when I'm visiting other paintings. But I've always believed that death is just the next adventure. I'd really love to talk to myself about it now. But, alas, back to the point: Ginny, please don't judge Professor Snape without all of the details."

"Harry saw him! He was with you!"

"I know," there was great regret in Dumbledore's voice.After a long moment of silence, he continued in a measured tone. "Speaking of Harry, this secret scheme of yours, I suggest you confide in him. There are things that must be done before anyone can get rid of Voldemort."

"You mean the horcruxes?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly at Ginny, then his lips curled up in a wide grin. "Ah . . . Fred and George's Extendable Ears?"

"Yes, sir. They were spying on Ron and Hermione trying to catch Ron sweet-talking her. Instead they overheard talk about the horcruxes, and questioned me, thinking that I would know. Well, I didn't, but between what they said, what I've accidently overheard on my own, what I've researched, and what I've deduced, I believe I know a good deal now."

"I'm sure," Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, since that's the case, there's something else I intended to tell Harry but unfortunately never had the chance -- death, if nothing else, does seem to be a bit inconvenient at times," he sighed.

"Please inform Harry that with horcruxes, the means of destruction is intrinsic to the nature of the object and to the maker's character. Tell him to remember all that we learned of Voldemort's nature, particularly that he is a loner and does not understand friendship or true loyalty. That he fears death. That he can't imagine anyone willing to die for a greater good."

Dumbledore suddenly raised his eye to the door. Though muffled, Ginny recognized Professor McGonagall talking with Professor Flitwick. She quickly ducked around the desk and took her seat. Dumbledore lowered his voice, speaking quickly. "Tell Harry that I had to wear the ring, and risk its consequences before I could destroy it," Dumbledore waved his right hand. "And please remind him that I would have died _then_ if it hadn't been for Professor Snape's help.

"And Ginny," Dumbledore looked down at her, his blue eyes full of sudden concern. "I'm sorry we won't have time to discuss your plan right now. Perhaps, another time. But please consider that you've already encountered Voldemort in . . . an unique way. You may be more susceptible. There are others who . . ."

"NO!" Ginny yelled without quite meaning to. She had grown up with her parents and six brothers telling her what she should or shouldn't do for her own good and she'd had enough. She could hear quick footfalls on the stairs. The door would spring open at any moment, but Ginny suddenly felt an urgent need to have her say. She lowered her voice, if not her outrage.

"I don't know what Harry thought I would do when he broke up with me. He sometimes thinks he is the only one with a grievance against Voldemort. I know better than anyone what Voldemort is and I'd take a stand against him even if I'd never met Harry. But I did meet him and I love him. So what if Voldemort chose Harry! I've chosen him too! And if I have to personally fight Voldemort for him I will!"

Professor McGonagall opened the door. She gave a troubled glance at Ginny and then frowned up at Dumbledore who winked back. Her face remained drawn and tired as she took her seat, dropping an old high-heeled boot on the desk.

"Miss Weasley . . . Ginny, I'm sorry you had to wait so long, but I had to ascertain everyone's status first. There's been another attack. . . . I'm sorry to say . . . , it's the Burrow."

There were murmurs from some of the portraits, but Ginny's hard eyes remained focused on McGonagall's strained lips. "Everyone's safe. Fortunately, Fred and George were visiting, so your parents were not outnumbered quite as much as Voldemort intended. They seemed to be looking for something or someone. . . . Perhaps Harry. Ginny, . . . your home . . . it's been demolished. I have a Portkey," she indicated the boot on her desk. "It will take you to Grimmauld Place where I understand everyone is gathering.

"Your parents and George are at St. Mungo's. George suffered a minor injury, and your mother is so distraught that they insisted on keeping her overnight for observation. Your father won't leave her side. You can talk to the Order about the wisdom of a visit once you get there. If you need anything from Gryffindor, feel free to go and get it. I will be here when you are ready."

Ginny stood up, "I'm ready now." She glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait. It was as if she was looking in a mirror, his sharp blazing eyes a reflection of how she felt her own must look. He nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'm ready," she repeated, her voice sharp and clear, her gaze hard ahead. Grabbing the boot, she barely felt the jerk at her navel.

* * *

Next up: The hunt for the Horcruxes truly begins.

Please review.


	13. Silent Screams

A/N: JKR gave us plenty of hints about the first horcrux Harry would be finding, so it is no surprise that I picked up on some of them.

* * *

**Silent Screams**

"_**From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out." –Sirius, OotP p 112**_

_**There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune . . .; also a heavy locket that none of them could open . . . Several times, Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth . . . –OotP p 116 & 117**_

------

"Don't be an idiot! Didn't you _notice_ it was _our_ home that was attacked? You can't protect us! You can't protect me!" Ginny screamed. "We already know about the horcruxes! You can't change that! I just told you what Dumbledore's portrait told me. He knows we know and he didn't say anything. We understand how important this is. How Voldemort mustn't ever learn how much we know. We're not upset that you didn't confide in us, and we agree that it is wise to continue following Dumbledore's advice. But he also said you will need your friends, and I think we qualify. Dumbledore believed in trusting his friends."

"And look where that got him!" Harry shot back.

"Don't you dare . . ." Ron began, but Ginny cut him off. "So he wasn't perfect. He made a mistake. Even more reason for you to trust your own gut and make your own decisions!"

"You were right about Draco, Harry. We wouldn't listen. And that's just one example. Remember what you said when we started the D.A. about having to use 'your own brain or guts' or whatever?'" Hermione added.

"So fill us in. Let us help," Fred and George leaned forward.

They were sitting on the floor of the drawing room. The Weasleys had moved in with Harry and he was glad to have them. He knew he could trust them; however, he had always been a bit uncomfortable with Fred and George's impulsive rebelliousness and nothing had changed in his feelings toward Ginny. Harry looked over Ginny's head at the tapestry on the wall behind her, automatically searching for the spot that was once Sirius's name. How he wished Sirius was here to advise him instead of just a hole burnt into his soul.

"Okay," Harry finally relented, his eyes still focused on the tapestry as he began in a rote voice. "The first horcrux was the diary, the second was Voldemort's grandfather's ring. Dumbledore destroyed that one, that's why his hand looked like it did last year. The third is a gold locket. The one we retrieved the night Dumbledore died was a . . ." Harry fell silent, his mouth still open. All eyes looked from Harry to where he was staring.

" . . . a fake . . . with a note . . . signed . . . by . . . R . . . A . . . B," Hermione finished for him as she stood up and approached the tapestry. "I've been searching ever since for someone with those initials. She ran her finger over the embroidered name near the bottom of the hanging where Harry was staring. Harry?"

"Does anyone know Regulus's middle name?" Harry asked.

"Maybe Lupin or one of the other members," Ron said getting up to peer at the tapestry.

"You could ask Kreacher or, or Mrs. Black," Fred offered.

"Yeah, that will work," grimaced Ginny. "Hey, wasn't there a locket among the junk we destroyed when we cleaned this place? . . . Remember it was really heavy and we couldn't open it? We all tried . . . remember?"

Harry suddenly recognized the locket in his mind. "You're right. How could I have forgotten? I even held it in my hand. Does anyone know what happened to all that stuff after we put it in the sacks?"

"Mum destroyed it. Used her wand. Anything that survived, Mad Eye had a go at. There were a few things that melted or they couldn't otherwise destroy, completely. Those they buried in the garden," Ginny answered. "I think I remember where."

"Kreacher stole some stuff," Ron muttered.

"We did too, but nothing like that," George admitted.

"And Mundungus," Harry added. "He doesn't come around anymore now that Dumbledore's gone."

"We've seen him. We'll find out if he took it." George looked at Fred who nodded. "We've got pretty good at Legilimency. Figured we'd better after Ginny and Ron gave us hell for selling Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder to Malfoy. We try to ascertain everyone's reasons for buying our backroom stuff now before we sell it to them."

"I'll send for Kreacher," Harry decided.

"We'll have to search the whole place." Hermione frowned. She didn't relish the job.

"I'll do the digging," Ron eagerly offered. Harry was sure he was thinking about the many spiders occupying every corner and cubbyhole of the old house.

"We'll also have to question everyone. Make sure no one saw it and took a liking to it," Hermione brows furrowed a bit deeper. "It will be hard to do, without them suspecting anything."

--------

Simply calling for Kreacher didn't work long distance. Harry had to send Hedwig to Hogwarts with a message asking if they could spare him to help out during the holidays. On impulse he asked for Dobby too.

While searching the Room of Requirement, Ginny had already proven that she was a natural at detecting powerful objects and magical residue, so she, Hermione and Harry spent the next day methodically going over every room. They found a number of hidden objects, but the locket was not among them. Nor was it in the rubbish Ron dug out of the frozen garden. Hermione even checked the small closet off of the kitchen where Kreacher slept. She noted with annoyance that her Christmas present from 2 years ago was unopened and hidden in a corner under a pile of dirty hand towels.

Fred and George came home very late from work that day, something that was not overlooked by Mrs. Weasley who was frantic by the time they showed up. She was at a complete loss without her clock, even though the clock had been pointing to mortal danger for everyone for quite some time. They gave her some excuse about having to do inventory and promised next time they would be sure to send a message. Up in Harry and Ron's room, however, Fred took a small vial of Veritaserum out of his pocket and related the true story.

As soon as they got to work that morning, they made connections to procure some Veritaserum and at the same time started a rumor that they were interested in fencing stolen objects -- a sure ploy to bring Mundungus around. By evening the connections came through, and just before closing they purchased the potion. Just in time too. It seems their rumor worked quicker than expected. Mundungus showed up half wasted at their backdoor while they were locking up. A drop of the potion in a friendly cup of cheer while they talked business, convinced them, in short order, that he had not seen the locket. However, they were afraid to turn him loose until the effects wore off. So they were stuck there, late into the night, talking and drinking with him.

They had a long list of items that Mundungus had pilfered from Grimmauld Place, along with the names of the buyers, which they now handed to Harry. His first preference for fencing was Borgin & Burkes. George figured that if Borgin & Burkes didn't snatch something up, it probably wasn't worth much. Fred promised that they would visit the shop and check out the items. With a matching smirk and twinkle in their eyes, Fred nodded at George, and George reached into his pocket, "And we'll take this." George opened his hand to reveal what looked like a huge, ugly cockroach. "It's a prototype we've been working on. We can train it to detect dark objects or anything else we fancy."

"It crawls undetected almost anywhere and reports back on anything it sees," Fred interjected.

"However, it works best if we give it a certain _scent_ to search for. You know, much like a bloodhound. You don't happen to have anything of Voldemort's -- something you know he touched -- do you?" George asked.

Harry thought for a moment. Too bad they didn't have the diary or the ring. Finally he told them about the cave and how to get there, warning them profusely about the Inferi. They were so excited that they jumped up ready to go that minute. It took some persuading to convince them that to go while they were tired, and with their mum already at odds, was a bad idea. Reluctantly, they finally agreed to wait until after the holidays.

No one else had any luck with the other members of the Order. Hardly anyone was around, and when they were, it was for a quick report and then they were off again. Ginny even failed with her mum. She had barely started working her way toward the subject when Mrs. Weasley began asking inquiring questions of her own.

Hermione had tried to corner Lupin, but was sidetracked by his condition.

"Harry, he looks awful! He has dark splotches under his eyes and his hands shake. He's so thin and pale. What happened?" Hermione asked, on the verge of tears.

"It's been really hard on him without Snape's potion. You know Snape and potions, he put something extra in it or did something special that made it more effective. No one knows what, so now Lupin really suffers when the moon is full." Harry replied.

"Well, did you look it up?"

"What?"

"Oh, Harry, Wolfsbane Potion, of course! In Snape's book! Give it to me. I'll look it up," Hermione said, though her grimace indicated that resorting to Snape's potion book was one of the last things she wanted to do.

Harry was glad for an excuse to turn away while he searched in his trunk. _How could he have been so stupid. _He hadn't even thought to look in the book. Finally, he pulled the book out from under some robes in his trunk and tossed it to Hermione. Hermione immediately began flipping through it. Ginny eyed the book with a peculiar expression which puzzled Harry. Perhaps she mistrusted it. After the diary, Harry couldn't blame her. But then she edged closer so that she could peer over Hermione's shoulder and asked, "Harry, if we find Snape's version of Wolfsbane in here, can Hermione and I take the book with us to Hogwarts so that we can brew up a batch for Lupin?"

"Sure, though you could just as easily copy . . ."

Ron, who was lounging against his pillow, eyes closed, suddenly sat up, interrupting Harry. "Let's throw a Christmas-New Year's Party! I'm sure everyone will drop in for that, and we can question them then."

Fred quickly suggested spiking the drinks with the Veritaserum. Hermione, still flipping through the book, muttered something about "there can be such a thing as too much honesty" and "remember Mundungus."

Just then Ginny stuck her finger on a page, "Look!" She was pointing to a handwritten note which showed an easily concocted antidote to Veritaserum. A plan began to take shape. They would throw a party and spike each guests' drink one by one, and then in teams of two or three, engage them in conversation. When they got the answer to their question, one of them would distract the person while the other added a few drops of the antidote to their drink.

Early the next morning, Hermione started brewing the antidote. Luckily, it used everyday ingredients. Meanwhile, the others convinced Mrs. Weasley that a party was just what they needed. Kreacher and Dobby arrived about an hour after breakfast. Harry immediately questioned Kreacher, then commanded him to bring everything he had swiped that belonged to the Blacks. The locket was not among the sackful of items that Kreacher reluctantly relinquished. After that, all effort and thought went into preparations for the party. Everyone got into the spirit. The break was obviously a good release for them all. The Weasleys seemed especially thankful for the distraction and Grimmauld Place was soon very festive.

At the party, it unfortunately took a lot longer than expected to extract the information from each victim. Other people interfered, other truths were spoken. There was one romance begun, and a number of guests who were not talking to each other by the time they left. Luckily, Mad Eye did not arrive until very late, but when he did he proved a real challenge as he never drank from anything other than his flask and his roving eye flicked suspiciously all around him.

Eventually, George had to _accidentally_ trip and shove a sticky mince pie in his face, with the desired result that Moody removed his eye to wash it. Fred then bumped him putting dishes in the sink, causing him to drop his eye down the drain where, with help from Ginny and Hermione, they kept it stuck there for ten minutes. This perplexed Moody to such an extent that he was distracted, answering questions almost absentmindedly while he tried a number of spells to retrieve his eye. It also increased sips from his flask which helped to loosen his tongue.

After a hectic night, they all collapsed on the two beds in Ron and Harry's room.

"Did we get everybody?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Anything?"

"Quite, but not what we were after."

"Do you think anyone suspected?"

"I hope not."

"I'm bushed."

"Me, too."

-------

Harry dreamed that his legs were encased in hot, burning lead. He was sinking in quicksand. The sand was boring its way, grain by grain into his feet. He desperately needed something, something so that he could get free. But what? What did he need? He had no idea. _Bring me everything! _he yelled. _Bring me everything you've got! _

Harry sat up screaming the words. He looked around at the sleepy faces looking back at him in shock. George tumbled off of Harry's aching, prickly legs. Ginny, half under the bed, was struggling to untangle herself from a blanket. Ron was rubbing his eyes muttering, "Whatzup?" not yet awake enough to be embarrassed that Hermione was on the bed beside him, adjusting her robes down over her legs. On the floor between the two beds, Fred yawned.

"Nothing. My legs were just asleep from George, here, sleeping on them all night. Feels like pins and needles. And I just figured something out. I didn't word my request to Kreacher right." With that he shouted, "Kreacher!"

With a crack, Kreacher appeared at the foot of the bed, followed by Dobby. "Master called?" Kreacher bent low to the floor with a loathing sneer on his face.

"Harry Potter want something. Dobby will be glad to get Harry Potter anything he wants."

"Kreacher, bring me everything you've got. And I mean EVERYTHING! Anything you have stolen, kept for others, been given, owned, or found. Everything."

"But Master," Kreacher whined, "what is given to Kreacher is Kreacher's. They are Kreacher's private things. Master has no use for anything of poor Kreacher's."

"Do you have anything at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher would not take his things to that awful place?"

"Kreacher will not speak bad of Hogwarts!" Dobby cried, attempting to cuff Kreacher around his ears.

"Not now, Dobby. Kreacher, do you understand me? I, your Master, command you to bring me everything you have. NOW!"

Kreacher Disapparated with a pop.

"Dobby will make sure Kreacher brings everything to Harry Potter," Dobby said, before also disappearing.

They were still discussing last night's party when Kreacher and Dobby popped back into the room. Kreacher was hugging a huge sack in his arms.

Harry knew immediately that Kreacher had something of Voldemort's. His eyes met Ginny's whose own had suddenly gone hard. She drew the blanket closer around her to stop a sudden shiver. Hermione's mouth was shaped in a silent "Oh" and her eyes were big. Ron was half out of bed, his arms stretched out in front of him like a blind man's. "Wicked, Harry. I think I feel something." There was a distinct look of disappointment on Fred and George's faces.

Ginny, whose eyes had followed Harry's round the room asked, "What's with you two?"

"Oh, it's just that we have been anticipating our little outing . . ." Fred muttered.

". . . and now we don't have to go," George sighed.

"Dump it on the bed where I can see everything," Harry demanded.

"But it is Kreacher's!"

Harry pointed and Kreacher grudgingly climbed up and turned the sack upside down in front of Harry, then quickly scampered back down. Everyone reached in, rummaging through the silver picture frames, cracked china and other odd items. Nothing. George even turned his cockroach loose to make sure, but it scuttled off the bed and headed toward Kreacher.

They all turned to look at him. His hands were clutching something under his dishcloth tunic. "What are you hiding? Bring it to me!" Harry shouted.

"No! It is Kreacher's!" Kreacher backed toward the door. "Kreacher and Master found it. Master commanded Kreacher to take care of it. Kreacher must do as Master commanded. Master gave it to Kreacher."

Harry jumped out of bed, grabbed Kreacher's arms and wrested his hands away from a huge safety pin holding a bulge in place under his tunic.

For a moment everyone stared at the bulge. Then the cockroach climbed onto Kreacher's foot and started crawling up his leg. Kreacher began screaming and twisting, and Harry releasing his grip on Kreacher's hands, grabbed the bulge through the tunic, his scar prickling. With his other hand he undid the safety pin and pulled it loose. When he let go, Kreacher tumbled backwards and a gold locket thudded to the floor.

Harry grabbed the locket, swinging it before him by its heavy gold chain. Kreacher dove for it, screaming, "It's Kreacher's! Harry Potter has no right to it! Master took Kreacher with him. Master gave it to Kreacher. Master commanded Kreacher to take care of it."

"Regulus meant for you to destroy it. Why do you still have it," Harry angrily scolded, holding it out of Kreacher's reach.

"No Master," Kreacher whimpered. "That was the poison speaking. Master Regulus would not want to destroy such a beautiful and precious Slytherin heirloom. Master was not himself. Master explained everything. Master told Kreacher to ignore whatever Master said and make Master drink no matter what. Then Kreacher was to put the other locket in and make everything like it was. Kreacher wanted to bring Master home. But while Kreacher was doing what Master had commanded, Master crawled into the lake. When Kreacher saw, it was too late. They had a hold of him and pulled him under."

The look of horror on Kreacher's face morphed into a sudden scared look that settled in his eyes. "Kreacher did not kill Master. Do not think Kreacher killed Master. Kreacher would not do that. It was not Kreacher's fault. Kreacher did what Master ordered. Kreacher tried to save Master. Kreacher did." He fell to the floor and great sobs racked his small, frail body.

Harry understood. Harry pulled the fake horcrux from his pocket, "Kreacher." His tone softened, "Kreacher, look, I have the other locket. I held the cup for Dumbledore. I know you did not kill Regulus. No one blames you." Harry then swept the stuff on his bed back into the sack and held it out. "Here. Take your possessions. They are yours. I do not need them. " Kreacher took the bag, but before he could disappear, followed by Dobby, Harry added, "And I forbid you to mention anything about these two lockets to anyone. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher replied as Dobby nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw a slight movement in the blank portrait of Phineas Nigellus on the far wall.

After breakfast, Fred and George quickly set to work training their cockroach and then left with a promise to again check out Borgin & Burkes as soon as they could for anything new or anything they might have missed the first time. The others spent the day trying, in vain, to open and destroy the locket.

The next day they were again seated on the drawing room rug with the locket in the center of their small circle.

"Ginny, tell me again what Dumbledore said."

Ginny, tired of repeating the exact words, narrowed it down to the main points: "The means to destroy a horcrux is inherent in the nature of the object and the character of the maker. Voldemort is a loner, he doesn't understand friendship. He fears death. He can't imagine anyone willingly risking death. Dumbledore had to wear the ring, and suffer its consequences. He would have died without Snape's help."

"So to design a horcrux he considers impossible for anyone to find and destroy . . . he would create a horcrux that requires . . . more than one person, much like you told us Dumbledore said was necessary in the cave. And, maybe one of the two has to help even to the point of . . ." Hermione glanced cautiously at Harry before continuing, ". . . of actively doing something that could end up killing the other one."

Harry picked absentmindedly at a spot on the rug for a minute before looking up. "Yeah, that sounds about right, but what exactly do we have to do? Dumbledore told me that he didn't think Voldemort would design anything that was quick acting, death-wise. He thought Voldemort would want to question anyone who had managed to get past his defenses. The Inferi would have drowned me, but they didn't attack Dumbledore at all.

"Also, I think Voldemort would enjoy prolonging the torture. He would want them to know that they were dying. That little bit of arrogance gave us a chance. Dumbledore still believed, until the end, that Snape," Harry spat the word, "would save him. I think it also worked in favor of Dumbledore with the ring. He only lost his hand that time. It appears Regulus chose not to wait and find out."

"Other than it taking at least two, I think the other important part is, 'I had to wear the ring,'" Ginny commented.

"Yeah, you have to use the item as intended," Ron said. "Dumbledore couldn't just have the ring, he had to _put it on_."

"Of course," Hermione grinned pleased. "So with a locket, a boy would give it to, . . . no, put it around the neck of, a girl he loves."

"Yeah, that fits," Harry admitted. Hermione glanced at Ron.

"NO WAY! It could kill you! You can't ask me to . . ."

"NO!" Harry and Ginny shouted together, Harry snatching up the locket to prevent any rash moves.

"There has to be another way." Harry insisted. They stared around at each other's white faces.

"There isn't, Harry," Ginny said moving over to kneel in front of him. "You know this is just how Voldemort would have planned it. Harry, give the locket to me," she said, lifting her hair up to expose her long, pale neck.

"NO!" Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dobby yelled as one, causing them all to jump because they did not know that Dobby had entered the room.

"Sorry, Harry Potter sir, Dobby came to ask if Harry Potter still needed Dobby and Kreacher, or if they should return to Hogwarts? But Harry Potter sir, Harry Potter must not give the locket to the girl he loves. Dobby will not allow it. If Harry Potter will permit, Dobby thinks there is another way."

"Go on please," Harry said, glad for any solution other than the horrible one that hung over them.

"Begging your pardon, but by House Elf Law, Kreacher is correct. The locket belongs to Kreacher as his Master gave it to him with precise instructions to be carried out. Under Elf Law, Kreacher is therefore bound to obey his Master and destroy it. Kreacher must give it to someone he loves."

"No," Hermione moaned. "He's been through enough."

"You'd rather one of us?" Ron asked in disbelief. But before they could get into an argument. Harry called Kreacher, and a moment later he stood before them.

Harry handed him the locket. "Do as Master Regulus commanded you. Do as I command you. Destroy the locket by giving it to someone you love."

"Kreacher can not."

"You must. You have been ordered. You know Regulus meant for you to destroy it. He wrote it in the note that was inside the fake locket. The one you replaced the original locket with."

"Kreacher knows, though he did not want to believe it. But," there was panic in Kreacher's voice, "But Kreacher can not destroy the locket as Master commands!"

"Why?!"

"Kreacher does not love anybody."

It was not really a surprise if they thought about it, but it was still a shock to hear him say it.

"Well, I suppose that's that." Ron stood up and went to look out the window. "We're back where we were."

"Harry Potter sir, if Dobby could say something please."

"Sure, Dobby."

"Dobby thinks there is still a way. Kreacher loved Mistress Black."

"Mrs. Black isn't here. She's dead, Dobby."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir, but Elf painting magic is very powerful and Mistress Black could afford the best. The elf who painted her portrait is famous for his life-like renderings. He captured her essence. Dobby knows a little about painting, and there is a way to animate her so that Kreacher can give her the necklace. It requires Dobby to merge with the painting and give her form."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Dobby doesn't think so. Elf magic is stronger than Wizard magic. But if Dobby is wrong, Dobby doesn't mind, sir. Dobby will gladly do it for Harry Potter."

Harry glanced at the others. Hermione put her hand over her month as if stopping herself from saying something. Her eyes filled with tears.

"We have no choice," Harry said, "if you are pretty sure it won't harm or kill you."

"Maybe we better . . . at least, wait . . . until some of the others are here. . . . Maybe Lupin or Mad-Eye . . . in case something happens . . . and we need . . . help," Hermione sputtered through tears, moving closer to Dobby.

"Are you crazy?" Ron spun to face her. "We're dealing with Mrs. Black. You might as well confess everything right now."

"Why not. I trust them!" Hermione spat back.

"No. Dumbledore said to tell no one else. I don't think it is a matter of trust. I think Voldemort can be very persuasive. Moody has already been overpowered once." Harry turned to Dobby. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"For Harry Potter, Dobby will do anything!"

"You're a good friend, Dobby. If you want to change your mind at any time, for any reason, or if it starts to hurt, then I want you to stop. And, even though I can't give you orders, I want you to know that's an order."

"Harry Potter called Dobby a friend. Dobby is grateful to Harry Potter for this opportunity to do something for him," Dobby said, his eyes brimming with tears as he bent low to the ground.

"No, Dobby, thank you. We all thank you." Harry knelt before Dobby and hugged him. The others followed suit, until tears were flooding down Dobby's face. "Now, what do we do?"

"Nothing, sir. Dobby and Kreacher will do it. Harry Potter and his friends should stay here. Dobby doesn't want Mrs. Black upset. It will make it more difficult." Dobby cast a glance toward Hermione.

"Fine. But we are going to be listening closely, so just yell if you need help. Kreacher, I'm ordering you to do whatever Dobby says. If anything starts to hurt Dobby I want you to call me right away. That's also an order."

"Yes, Master."

With that Dobby and Kreacher left the room. They could hear the curtain being pulled back and the mumbled voices of Mrs. Black and Kreacher. Ron and Ginny fed out a couple of Extendable Ears while Harry peeped around the door jamb and down the stairs.

". . . yes, it is beautiful. You say it belonged to Salazar Slytherin?"

"Yes, Mistress. Master Regulus found it. Kreacher is sure Master would want Mistress to have it. For Kreacher to paint it into Mistress's picture though, Dobby here, must animate Mistress. Other than that, the process is similar to the original sitting when Mistress's portrait was first painted."

"Well, I didn't like it then, but I suppose I can tolerate it, if it doesn't take too long. It is rather boring looking at the back of a curtain all of the time. I dread to see what those blood traitors and mudbloods have done to my house though."

"Mistress must stay calm or Kreacher and Dobby won't be able to concentrate and the necklace won't look right in the painting," Kreacher looked up from his bowed position.

"Oh, if I must. But Kreacher I want you to punish yourself for the inconvenience you are causing me."

"Yes, Mistress. Kreacher will be honored."

"You, too, whatever your name is again. What are you wearing?"

"Dobby is a free elf," Dobby replied while bowing.

"How awful! Kreacher hold the necklace up so I can see it better." She looked at the necklace greedily. "Is this the only way?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Let's get it over with then."

Harry watched as Dobby, muttering some sort of enchantment, walked into the picture frame. The painting took on the look of a double exposure, Dobby's image merging with Mrs. Black's. Together, as one, they stepped back out into the hall. Mrs. Black stretched out her arms and frowned. From the front she looked normal, but from the sides she was insubstantial like a flattened holograph. "What must I do now?"

Kreacher dropped to the floor, smiling. "Kreacher is so happy to see Mistress again. Kreacher hopes Mistress will stay."

"No. I do not like having a filthy creature inside of me. Tell me what I need to do to get this over with."

"Mistress must sit down so that Kreacher can paint and fasten the locket around Mistress's neck."

Mrs. Black went to a large throne-like chair that stood in the hallway and sat down. Kreacher conjured a brush, a palette of paint and a stool out of the air and standing on the stool carefully painted the front of Mrs. Black's dress and around her neck where the locket would hang, careful to match the colors perfectly. Then Kreacher dipped his brush in gold paint and carefully painted all sides of the locket making sure that he covered every surface.

While thus occupied, a tedious hour or so passed with neither Mrs. Black, nor Kreacher saying more than a few words. Finally, Kreacher again stood on the stool and positioned the wet locket in the wet paint of Mrs. Black's dress and draped the chain around her neck. He then conjured a jewel-encrusted hand mirror, which he handed to Mrs. Black so that she could see herself. "If it pleases Mistress, Kreacher will now fasten it in back."

"It's taken you long enough. You obviously have no skill. Hurry up and finish!" Mrs. Black admiringly caressed the locket as Kreacher hurriedly scooted the stool behind her, and trying not to touch her, began worrying with the latch.

"I can feel its power. Yes. I wonder why I didn't have this while I was alive? If my husband was here I would certainly have some words with him." She twisted slightly to view herself better in the mirror.

"OUCH!" She turned and swept her hand across Kreacher's face, knocking him sprawling to the floor. "You clumsy oaf! You pinched me! Punish yourself, right now. I want . . ." Mrs. Black rant ceased in mid wail.

Kreacher had his nose to the floor muttering apologies, so it was Harry who first noticed that Mrs. Black was frantically gasping as she clawed at her throat with both hands. Behind him, Ron was cursing the Extendable Ears.

Harry bolted down the steps. Every now and then, Dobby's features would filter through Mrs. Black's twisted countenance, also gasping for air, his eyes bulging. Harry lunged for the necklace. The chain had already begun to merge with the surface of her dress. It was like trying to grab something out of a painting. He could not lift or yank it off.

"Stand back!" Hermione yelled as she raced down the stairs followed by Ron and Ginny. "I need a clean shot at the locket! Hold her still! If I miss, I might hurt her or Dobby!" Harry wrestled one of her arms back. Ron grabbed the other. Ginny and Hermione, their wands almost touching the locket sent blast after blast. Nothing worked. Mrs. Black's face was turning quite blue.

Kreacher was screaming. "Master made Kreacher kill Mistress! Let go of Mistress! Master is hurting Mistress! Kreacher will have to kill himself now! Kreacher will have to die if Mistress dies!"

"Shut up, Kreacher, she's already dead! DO SOMETHING! Dobby said Elf magic was stronger!"

"Kreacher does not know what to do!" the elf wailed.

"Hold off a minute, I have an idea." Ginny picked up the brush and palette from where they had scattered to the floor. "Can any of you paint?"

"I used to be pretty good. Haven't tried since I started studying magic though," Hermione replied. "Why?"

Ginny shoved the brush into her hand. "Paint it unlatched. Paint the locket open on her dress."

While Ron and Harry attempted to hold the struggling form of Mrs. Black still, Hermione dipped the brush in the gold paint and quickly painted a heart beside the one that had already merged onto the cloth of Mrs. Black's dress. There was a loud bang and flash that knocked them all to the floor. Mrs. Black, her dress in disarray, sucked in a breath. But beneath her features, they could see that Dobby's face was still stricken.

"Separate them! Get her back in the painting!" Harry yelled, half pulling, half carrying Mrs. Black toward the picture as Ron, Ginny and Hermione pushed from behind. They unceremoniously shoved her across the threshold of the frame as if they were pushing her out a window. Dobby immediately fell forward out of the canvas, Harry barely managing to catch his limp body before it hit the steps. The necklace was around his neck. Harry grabbed it and tried to yank it off over his head. It resisted removal.

"Maybe if we do the opening charm all together," Hermione suggested as Harry laid Dobby down on the floor. The four of them carefully aimed their wands and shouted, "_Alohomora!_"

"I see a seam!" Ginny grabbed the locket and stuck her fingernail in the groove and pried at it. It popped open. There was another loud bang and a flash of light like before, but Dobby remained breathless.

Harry pointed his wand at him. "_Rennervate!" _Nothing happened.

"CPR!" Hermione screamed. "Try CPR!" Ron and Ginny exchanged puzzled glances but Harry dropped beside Dobby's head.

"I've only seen it done on the telly, but here goes." He tilted Dobby's head back and breathed into his mouth. Hermione knelt down and started doing compressions over his heart while counting.

"Again." Harry leaned back over Dobby. Five breaths later Dobby opened his own mouth in what looked like a coughing fit and struggled to sit up, a dazed look on his face. He looked around at them, huge tears welling up in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out.

"Dobby, are you okay?" Ginny asked.

Dobby opened his mouth again, then closed it and nodded.

Hermione with sudden awareness, whispered, "Mrs. Black isn't cursing us." She glanced over her shoulder at the portrait. Mrs. Black's mouth was opening and closing and she was gesturing wildly. It reminded Hermione of watching television with the sound turned off. "Something's happened to their vocal cords."

"Blimey! Dobby, can you speak?" Ron asked. Dobby shook his head from side to side.

"I'm so sorry Dobby. We'll take you to St. Mungo's. Maybe they will be able to do something." Harry rested his hand on Dobby's arm. Dobby, however, was smiling and shaking his head. Harry reached over and gently lifted the locket up over Dobby's head. "I think that you've earned the right to this locket, but do you mind if I keep it for you until you are out of the hospital?"

Dobby shook his head once more, tears again welling in his large protruding eyes.

Harry studied the locket in his hand. Its powers were gone. The photos inside had been scotched black by the flash and crumbled to ash as he touched them.

"Who do you think they were of?" Ginny asked leaning over his shoulder.

"Don't know. Salazar and his wife maybe. I suppose he had one if he has heirs."

"You know what I would put in a locket if I had one?" Ginny tugged at Harry's hair pulling multiple strands loose. "A locket of your hair."

"Ouch! That hurt!"

They all laughed with uneasy relief, including Dobby who looked extremely funny with his mouth wide open but no sound coming out.

* * *

Next up: The search for horcruxes continues. Please review. 


	14. Once Before I Die

A/N: Please, please review.

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**Once Before I Die **

"– _**you don't understand – there are things worth dying for!" – Sirius, OotP p 477**_

_**Luna was demonstrating her usual knack of speaking uncomfortable truths; he had never met anyone quite like her. . . . "Nobody's ever asked me to a party before, as a friend!" – Luna, HBP p 311**_

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"Maybe she yelled so much she lost her voice." Ron grinned sheepishly.

"I don't believe any such thing," Mrs. Weasley said, pulling the curtain closed. "Now hurry up and get the rest of your stuff. We're running late. And please try not to drop anything else down the stairs." There was a bit of a lilt to her voice, despite the scolding.

Ron took the stairs two at a time, released from having to act quietly, and burst back into the room. "Mum just found out about Mrs. Black, but I think she's so happy that the old biddy has finally shut up, that she didn't ask a lot of questions. Hey, what are you two up to?"

Harry looked around embarrassed, and Ginny quickly stuffed something into her pocket.

"Nothing," Harry mumbled, sticking his own hands in his own pockets.

Ron eyed them suspiciously, then shrugged. "Mum says 'hurry up!"' He grabbed Pig in his cage.

Ginny smiled, "Bye, Harry," and brushed past Ron.

"So we'll see you at Easter if not before. Wish me luck, mate!" Ron called over his shoulder, bolting down the stairs with Pig screeching and flapping wildly in the swinging cage.

"Good luck, Ron! Just don't start a fight about anything!" Harry shouted from the landing.

"Easy for you to say!" Ron yelled back up at him.

Harry heard the front door slam and knew he was, once again, alone in the big, empty house. How very lonely Sirius must have felt each time they had headed back to school. In the heavy, constricting silence, Harry let his mind wander back over the past few days.

Instead of the anticipated euphoria he had expected after destroying another horcrux, it had only heightened their sense of futility, aware as never before how much was being asked of them.

Hermione had insisted on accompanying Dobby to St. Mungo's. When she returned, she began sobbing uncontrollably. Ron and Hermione spent the rest of the day huddled in a corner of her bedroom, which left Ginny and Harry by themselves, something Harry had up to then, avoided. However, Ginny acted unperturbed by such petty concerns, and at her insistence, they reviewed the Order's log to see if they could detect any pattern in the latest attacks.

She was especially interested in any connection that might indicate why Voldemort had chosen to attack the Burrow. Voldemort would have known that Harry wasn't there, she insisted, so there had to be another reason. Of course, her parents and brothers were prominent members of the Order, and Mr. Weasley did work for the Ministry, but the Burrow was well protected, and not an easy target. Voldemort had lost a number of Death Eaters in the attack, and the place had been ransacked prior to its destruction. There must have been something he wanted that made it worth the risk. Harry was just glad to have something to concentrate on.

The next morning, Hermione announced that she wanted to visit her parents for a few days before returning to school. She quickly packed and left soon after breakfast. Ron had tried to talk her out of going, and spent the afternoon sulking. Toward evening, he barged in on them, swore them to secrecy, and declared that he couldn't live without Hermione and that he had decided to ask her to marry him.

They spent the next two days reassuring Ron: Should he ask her right away, or wait for Valentine's Day or after he turned eighteen? Would Mum and Dad object to his marrying so young? What should he do about an engagement ring? He couldn't afford one. Or wedding rings for that matter. Would she want to marry someone who couldn't even afford a ring? She's so smart, she could have anyone she wanted. Why would she want to marry him? Did they think she really liked him in that way? Was it silly to think of marriage with Voldemort out there? What if he was to lose her? What if she said no?

Ginny and Harry exchanged many exasperated or amused looks over Ron's head, though if Harry had allowed it, many of the same thoughts would have been churning through his mind about Ginny. Early this morning, as he laid in bed listening to Ron toss and turn, Harry made a decision of his own. He cornered Ginny as she was about to leave and handed her a small box.

"Ginny, will you keep these for me? They're my mum and dad's wedding rings. I hope to use them myself someday, but if something happens to me, and everything works out for Ron and Hermione, I would be pleased if he used them."

Ginny had looked up from the box into Harry's face. She was about to say something, when Ron had bounded into the room. Instead, she had pocketed the box. Harry wondered if she had understood what he was really asking, and if he should have placed such a burden on her after he had sworn he would wait until Voldemort was dead, and he could again believe in the possibility of a future.

A few days later, Harry heard about the attack at Godric's Hollow. Lupin reported that his parents' graves had been vandalized, their bodies exhumed, the caskets broken into. Harry, seething, had to be forcefully restrained while they convinced him that it could be a trap. "Harry, there's nothing to do or see. I took care of them," Lupin said, in a soft, strained, pleading voice. "I've already repaired the caskets and re-buried them. It's all right."

After that the nightmares started. Harry would see the graves and his mum and dad rising out of them, looking like Inferi. They would approach him with white arms outstretched. Despite himself, he would shrink back horrified. They would stop a few yards away and raise their hands in front of their sunken, sightless eyes and point with their right hands at their left hands. Then his mum would point at his forehead, and Harry would awake, his scar prickling.

At least Hermione could sleep better now. No longer searching for information on how to destroy a horcrux, she could finally stop reading all those gruesome Dark Arts books that made her shudder and gave her night sweats. Her mood improved greatly. That, and the fact N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching and they barely had any personal time, kept her from noticing that Ron had deteriorated into a complete basket case.

Ginny, her exploration of the forest and grounds temporarily curtailed because of a bitter cold snap, took over the searching of the Room of Requirement. She often cajoled a group of her friends into helping, but Luna was the most diligent. "I don't mind," she said. "It's not like I have a bunch of friends to hang out with."

Ron posted letters to everyone at the end of January asking for money in lieu of gifts for his next birthday. He then sent letters every few days to remind them. By the third post, Fred and George asked Harry what was up. When Harry refused to tell them, they made plans to visit Hogwarts. When they saw for themselves how scattered Ron was acting, and weaseled the reason out of him, they loaned him the money and convinced him to go ahead and propose on Valentine's Day. They figured the sooner the better, or Ron would surely flunk out of school.

Hedwig woke Harry on the morning after Valentine's Day with a post that read, "YES! She said YES! Make sure Mum and Dad are there this evening! We've got permission from McGonagall to pop in and tell them. See you tonight."

Harry immediately sent Hedwig back out with posts asking people to please drop by that evening, then quickly whipped up an engagement party with Fred and George's help. It felt good to have something to celebrate, especially since his search since the holidays had been fruitless. He had managed to locate Hepzibah Smith's old house and some of her relatives, but discovered nothing new. He was running out of leads and ideas.

The Room of Requirement remained the most likely bet. A week later, Harry got himself assigned to Hogwarts. But after two weeks of patrolling, and searching the room during his time off, he was more frustrated than ever. He even finagled an opportunity to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. Dumbledore was pleased and interested to hear that another horcrux had been destroyed, but displayed no great surprise. He was _flabbergasted_, as he put it, that he hadn't thought of the Room of Requirement, and that Voldemort might have wanted to hide something as well as find something at Hogwarts. He agreed that it was an excellent place to look. Other than that, he offered no additional help or comfort.

In fact, Harry came away with the distinct impression that, though Dumbledore did not say it outright, he thought Harry's revisiting of the places that he had told him about was both useless and dangerous. "Harry, I did a very thorough search based on everything I knew. If Voldemort is watching your movements, you could be giving away how much you know. Please be prudent about taking unnecessary risks."

But Harry had to do something, or he would go mad. He had long ago asked Hermione -- over Ron's objections -- to ask Viktor Krum to forward any rumors he might have heard of the time Voldemort had spent in Albania. Harry figured Bulgaria was much closer and that they might have heard something that hadn't traveled all the way back to England.

Viktor had done much more. He visited Albania and wrote to Hermione that he was fairly sure he knew which forest Voldemort had been in. Harry decided to go there next. Too bad he hadn't been able to master becoming an animagus, or change his appearance as Tonks did, even with Tonks coaching him on the latter. He would have liked to travel incognito. Instead, he asked Lupin to accompany him and made arrangements to have Viktor join them in Albania.

Lupin was reluctant. There was a battle almost every day, and he was needed. In the end, though, Lupin consented. Everyone had been suspicious of Mrs. Black's sudden, unexplained silence and had questioned Harry to no avail. Only Lupin, however, seemed to notice the addition of the locket. Harry caught him peering closely at it one day. And then there was the unexplained, new-and-improved version of Wolfsbane Potion that Harry now offered him each month.

Though, Harry adamantly refused to answer any of Lupin's probing questions, Harry and the others had earned their elders' respect long ago, and Lupin knew not to lightly dismiss Harry's requests. Mrs. Weasley, wringing her hands, tried to dissuade both Harry and Lupin, and when she couldn't, sent a post to Charlie in Romania, asking him to also join them in Albania.

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It was early April when Luna interrupted a snogging break Ron and Hermione were taking behind a stack of books in the Room of Requirement.

"I found what you're looking for."

"How could you, you don't _know_ what we're looking for?" Hermione replied flustered, quickly straightening her robes while Ron turned beet red.

"Well, come see for yourself then." She led them down a twisty, narrow path to an old dresser drawer she had pulled open. Inside the drawer on an old faded embroidered pillow was a small, dainty, gold cup. Hermione recognized it at once, having looked it up in a book while researching items known to belong to the four founders. She reached for it.

"I wouldn't if I were you. It's being guarded by wattzings."

"What things?" Ron repeated.

"Wattzings! You've surely heard of them? They escape from Muggle electrical devices. You can see them spark sometimes if you watch carefully. And they sometimes start fires for mischief. They'll shock you if you get too close."

"Nonsense. There are no such things." Hermione reached in and jumped back with an exclamation, breaking the thin squiggle of lightning that had coursed between her finger and the cup. Ginny and Neville came running up and together stamped out the many scattered sparks. Hermione shook her hand in the air.

"See? Classic wattzing behavior!"

"Doesn't mean there are what zings or whatever you call them. Just that it is protected." Hermione took out her wand and aimed a spell. She ducked quickly as the spell rebounded and sparks flew. She tried other spells with the same effect.

"This is getting rather dangerous," Ginny laughed, dodging a spell. "_Aquamente!" _She pointed her own wand at an old broom that was smoldering nearby.

"I know a spell that might work. But I need a piece of electrical wire, like the Muggles use, to do it," Luna offered.

"Will this work?" Ron pulled a plug with cord attached from his pocket. "What?" he said to the questioning faces around him. "Fred gave it to me after the Burrow was demolished. He found it in the wreckage. It was part of Dad's collection. I just wanted to . . . well, . . . hold on to it for a while." He turned to Luna. "The spell won't destroy it, will it?"

"No, it will be just fine, and yes, it will work perfectly." Luna took the cord, and using her teeth, bit at the plastic coating at the end opposite from the plug, and then scraped it off with her fingernail, exposing the wires. Then placing the plug as close as she could to the cup without getting shocked, she placed the other end against an old chipped candle holder.

"My Dad calls it a grounding spell. I watched him do it once. What the spell does is it gets the wattzings to follow the wire to another object." She pointed her wand at the plug. "_Terrasolum!" _There was a flash and a pop as sparks zapped from around the cup to the wire. Luna reached down, coiled the piece of extension cord up and handed it to Ron. Then she reached in to pick up the cup but stopped, withdrawing her hand.

"Didn't it work?" Ginny asked.

"It's not that," she replied. Grabbing the edge of the drawer she squatted and swayed from side to side, peering at the cup from different directions. "I just don't think I want to touch it. It has a very strong . . ."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione reached in past Luna's shoulder and picked it up. She nodded to Ron and Ginny, "It's one." Ron reached for the candle holder and jumped back in surprise, as sparks again flew all over the place.

Ginny laughed. "My brother would have to test it, wouldn't he. You sure you want to marry someone so dense?" she asked Hermione.

Ron frowned as he rubbed his fingers. "What should we do now? Harry's still in Albania for another two weeks. You reckon we should wait for him?"

"I don't know. I don't like the idea of keeping it around." Hermione replied.

"How do you think this one works?" Ron asked taking the delicate golden cup from Hermione.

"I've been thinking about that. Obviously cups are meant to be drunk out of. Maybe something like a drink between friends," Hermione suggested.

Luna tilted her head to one side. "Such a pretty cup. Shame to destroy it. But if you wait for Harry, he will insist on doing whatever it is himself, won't he? We can't allow that. He's the _Chosen One_. We need him to fight Voldemort." Luna looked at the suddenly serious faces around her. After a pause in which no one said anything, Luna held out her hand for the cup and said, "I'll do it!"

"Why? – Why would you . . . you don't even know what it is or why we have to do it?!" Ron replied, perplexed.

"You've had us searching for months now. It must be really important."

"Luna, you don't know what you're volunteering for. It could kill you," Ginny softly said.

"I've never been invited to a tea with friends. I think it is something that I would like to do once before I die," Luna smiled back at them.

"I'll drink it with her," Neville said, his voice quivering slightly. "It makes sense. You're all better at magic than either of us. You're more valuable. And if anything goes wrong, I can't think of anyone who I'd rather have save me. I know I'll be okay." He looked around at them, his eyes resting on Ginny.

"I thought you didn't want to touch the cup?" Hermione said, taking the cup back from Ron.

"Well, obviously not if I didn't have to. But this is different. There's just one thing. If anything happens to me will you tell my dad I was helping Harry Potter defeat Voldemort? And will you also promise to tell him I didn't suffer no matter what the truth is?"

"Same for my Gran." Neville took the cup from Hermione. "So shall we have some tea? No sense in waiting, is there? Someone has to do it."

Hermione conjured a steaming teapot out of the air. "Are you two sure? I'm not sure we should be . . ."

"It's okay, Hermione. I'm not scared." With a dreamy look in her eyes, she took the embroidered cushion out of the drawer and sat down on it. "You know I really miss my mum sometimes."

"And I'd do anything if it helps to defeat Voldemort!" Neville reached for the teapot and poured some into the cup, then sat on the floor beside Luna.

Taking the cup from Neville with a slight shudder, Luna put it to her lips, but quickly set it down as if it was too hot. "I like my tea with cream and sugar, please."

"Sure. Anything you want." Hermione flicked her wrist and a creamer and sugar bowl with silver spoon materialized. She flicked again and a plate of biscuits appeared. One more swish and a small white lace tablecloth covered the floor in front of Luna and Neville. With an upward motion of her wand, the tea set positioned itself on the cloth. Hermione then knelt down on the floor beside Neville, joined by Ron and Ginny. Luna reached for a biscuit and took a bite, chewing as she stirred cream and sugar into her tea.

"Thank you, Hermione. These are really good." Luna lifted the cup to her lips, and blew softly, producing a small hollow that rippled out across the surface. Her hand steady now, she took a sip. Nothing happened. She tilted her head sideways as if listening to something and then, in a few quick gulps, drained the small cup. She handed the cup to Neville. "I'm sorry, but I think you will need to drink also."

Neville's hand shook as he took the cup and held it out. Ginny filled it to the brim from the teapot. In one big gulp, he swallowed the contents. A shiver coursed through his body. Luna caught his hand to keep him from dropping the cup. When Neville quieted, she nodded at Ginny who again filled the cup, adding cream and sugar. Her hand still steadying Neville's and the cup, Luna lifted them up, and took another swallow. Her eyes bulged out farther and her mouth pursed as if it was really bitter. "Neville, raise your hand higher. Help me to drink the rest," she whispered, screwing her face up slightly as if she felt pain.

"No, I'll do it." Neville drained the cup and sat it down. "Now what?"

Grabbing his stomach, he retched into the open drawer beside him.

Luna clapped her hand over her mouth, her face white. Through her fingers and clenched lips she whispered, "Pour some more." Ginny refilled the cup. "Help me drink." Ginny held it to Luna's lips while she drank another whole cup of tea. Luna wheezed as if she could barely breathe. After a few, labored breaths she gasped, "Neville, I think we will have to drink it all. Can you manage another cup?"

Ginny refilled the cup and turned to Neville. His head still hung over the drawer. In slow motion, he pushed the drawer shut, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and turned to Ginny. Locking his eyes on hers, he nodded. Ginny tilted the cup so that Neville could drink. He sputtered, but drank it down.

"Again." Luna coughed, a convulsion rippling through her.

"No! That's enough," Hermione cried. "I'll drink the rest."

"Again," Luna repeated, looking up at Hermione and shaking her head slowly. Ginny filled the cup yet again, helping first Luna to drink, and then Neville. With the next cup, the teapot emptied. Neville was hunched over, rocking. Hermione moved closer and draped her arm across his back, steadying him. Luna reached for the cup, swaying drastically. Ginny motioned Ron to move behind Luna and support her. Gently resting her head back on his shoulder, Ron held Luna while Ginny tilted the liquid into her mouth.

When she took the cup away, Luna was staring at the ceiling with misty eyes. "Mummy?" Luna smiled.

A sharp ting sounded, and a crack appeared in the side of the cup. Ginny turned it over and handed it to Hermione who disengaged herself from Neville.

"It feels different. I think they did it," Hermione said.

"Hermione! Ginny!" Ron cried. Hermione and Ginny looked up from examining the cup. Neville had fallen over and Luna's head was lulling on Ron's shoulder, her eyes closed.

"_Ennervate!" _Hermione screamed, pointing her wand at Neville. He remained motionless. She grabbed the front of his robe, pulling him back up into a sitting position and shook him. "Ron, Ginny, _do_ something!"

"Here try these!" Ron pushed Luna forward into Ginny's arms and reached into his pocket, pulling out the bezoars he had taken from Snape's office. He tossed one to Hermione who pushed it into Neville's mouth, angling his head way back. Ron forced one down Luna's throat. Neville coughed, spittle running down his chin.

"She's not responding. Luna's not responding." Ron lifted her arm and released it. It fell limply down at her side. "I'm going to give her another," he said, stuffing the wrinkled bezoar down her throat. He held his breath and leaned in. "She's breathing," he said after a moment.

"Let's get them down to Madam Pomfrey's. Maybe she can do something," Hermione suggested.

"What will we tell her?" Ron asked.

"Who cares? Let go!" Ginny put the cup in the pocket of her robe while Ron lifted Luna up in his arms. Hermione and Ginny followed him out, balancing Neville between them.

* * *

Next up: Harry is running out of clues. 


	15. Riddle Clues

A/N: This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I wanted to get it to you before I got busy at work, but, perhaps obviously, I failed. I am in a busy period at work, I have homework for my writing class (and can't use this), and I had to put my old cat to sleep, so though I'm sneaking this chapter in now, it still may be a while before I can post again, though if I can I'll sneak another one in. So much for excuses. At least, this chapter is full of clues and will give you something to ponder while you wait. And, of course, you will have a chance to review any chapters you haven't yet.

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**Riddle Clues**

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"_**You have no subtlety, Potter . . . You do not understand fine distinctions."– Snape, OotP p 530**_

_**. . . there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape's face when he answered. "Yes, Potter," he said, his eyes glinting. "That is my job." – Snape, OotP p 591**_

"_**If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." – Sirius, GoF p 525**_

"_**But I forgot – another old man's mistake – that some wounds run too deep for the healing." – Dumbledore, OotP p 833**_

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Harry sat on the edge of Luna's bed and gently brushed a few wisps of hair out of her face. "You shouldn't have done it. If I had been here, I wouldn't have let you. Luna, you have to wake up. _Please _wake up."

Harry was furious. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!"

"Someone had to do it," Ron tried to explain.

"BUT NOT LUNA! YOU KNOW HOW SHE IS!"

"It's not like she didn't know what she was doing. She offered! She wanted to! Both of them were adamant. You should have seen their faces," Hermione said, wringing her hands.

"SO, THAT MEANS YOU SHOULD LET HER? OR NEVILLE! HE . . . YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND . . . HE ALREADY . . ."

"You'd rather it be one of us?" Ron blurted.

"I DON'T WANT IT TO BE ANYONE!"

"Harry, some things are not yours to control. They chose to do it. You are not responsible for them," Ginny reasoned. "Besides, Neville says he's okay, just a little weak. And Madam Pomfrey says nothing is physically wrong with Luna and she's sure she'll come out of her coma when she's ready. . . . So, tell us, . . . did you find anything?"

Harry, suddenly deflated, answered, "No."

"Well, here's what Luna found," Ginny pulled the little gold cup from her pocket. "It was definitely one."

Harry took the cup and fingered the crack. He blinked back a few tears. "Keep it." He shoved the cup back into Ginny's hand and turned away. "When all of this is over, give it to Luna or Neville if they want it."

"Harry, you can't do it all yourself. You have to let the rest of us help." Hermione reached over and took his hand.

"I know. . . . I know."

Luna came out of her coma ten days later and seemed no worse for it. In fact she was extremely excited and happy saying that she had a wonderful visit with her mum. In the meantime, they had continued searching the Room of Requirement in case there was something else there, though they doubted it. Still it was better than doing nothing.

Harry had asked to be assigned to Hogwarts on a semi-permanent basis and had been granted permission. He had nothing better to do. He only had two leads left, and after his talk with Dumbledore's portrait, he was reluctant to follow either. He had to admit he was also scared. One was the Riddle house. The other was Nagini. Even if Voldemort was no longer staying at the house, he considered it his and could be having it watched. And, of course, he kept Nagini with him. Harry had no idea how to get to him without encountering Voldemort.

Ron, Hermione and Neville were immersed in taking their N.E.W.T.s when Harry decided he could wait no longer. Voldemort was increasing the intensity of his attacks. They were becoming more frequent and more deadly. Harry found Ginny down by Hagrid's hut. "I'm going to Riddle's mansion to see what I can find. I need someone to come with me. Ron and Hermione are taking exams."

"Harry, we've talked this over already. It isn't wise for you to go. If you really think it needs to be searched, Ron, Hermione and I will go as soon as we're free of exams . . . I have an idea, . . . a plan I've been meaning to tell you about. Just be patient a few more days."

"If you don't want to go, just say so!"

"Harry, what's another day? I have to help Hagrid right now. He convinced the board that knowing the information wasn't enough. With magical creatures there should be a practical as part of the O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s. I promised I'd help."

"What's another day? Why don't you ask Susan Bones that question? She's just lost another family member. It was in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning. Her home was attacked last night and her dad killed. You all lecture me on needing my friends and letting you help and yet when I ask, you're all too busy! Don't worry, I'll find someone else to go with me!"

"Harry, Harry, please wait!" But Harry was already heading up the hill. Ginny yelled after him, "Promise me you won't do anything rash!"

Harry, without turning around, waved his arm, irritably. He felt every attack, every death as blood on his hands. He had waited too long already. He trudged back to the castle with his head down, totally unaware of the two girls sitting under a tree until one of them called to him.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Luna with her arm around Susan who had tears streaking down her face.

"Sorry, didn't see you. Sorry to hear about your dad, Susan."

Susan wiped her tears away and stood up, facing Harry. "I'm going to fight him. I'm going to kill him if I can. Let me join you. If you don't let me join, then I'll go after him on my own. I don't care about the danger. He killed my Aunt Amelia. He killed other members of my family when I was little. He's just killed my dad! I can't allow him to go on killing people! He has to be stopped! NOW!"

Harry was taken aback. His fight with Voldemort was so personal, that on some level, he sometimes forgot that it was personal to others as well. He asked lamely, "Don't you have exams?"

"They don't matter!" Susan's hard eyes bored into him. "What have you been doing? You are doing something, aren't you? Do you know where _he_ is?!"

Harry kept his eyes focused on hers. He felt he would feel like a coward if he looked away. "I don't know where Voldemort is, but I am doing something."

Susan flung her fists against his chest. "You're lying! You're not doing enough! You're scared! You're doing nothing! You must do more! You're the _Chosen One! _You're the only one he can't kill! Why aren't you out there fighting him?! What are you doing hanging around here, enjoying the sunshine and snogging Ginny, while he's OUT THERE KILLING MY DAD?!"

Her pounding fists felt like daggers in his heart. She was right. He wasn't doing anything. He wasn't even enjoying the sunshine or snogging Ginny. All that had been put on hold. He had put his whole life on hold until after he killed Voldemort, and yet, here he was wasting another day.

He grabbed her wrists. "Susan, Susan, look at me." She raised her tear-stained eyes. "You are right. I haven't been doing enough, but I swear to you right now that I will do everything I can. But you're wrong about one thing; Voldemort can kill me and I admit I'm scared." He searched her eyes. "Susan, we can't let our emotions control us. Voldemort is too smart to not take advantage of such weaknesses. Everyone who is against Voldemort is already . . . with me."

Harry paused. There was such pain and pleading in her eyes. Taking a breath, he continued, "There is something I could use help with today. But Susan, you can't help me if I can't trust you not to endanger yourself and others. Recklessness will get us all killed."

Susan's tears stopped as if a faucet had been turned off. Her face hardened. Luna stood up beside her, and wrapped her arm through Susan's. "I want to help also, whatever it is."

Harry glanced at Luna, about to object, but at the look in her eyes, thought better of it. "You need to know what you're getting into first. I want to search the house that belonged to Voldemort's father. I am looking for the same sort of thing we've been searching the Room of Requirement for. You've both helped us with that, so you know I'm looking for magical objects with a strong feel of dark magic. They're important for Voldemort's destruction, though I can't tell you why. It will be very dangerous. This is the house where Cedric was murdered, so we know that Voldemort has been there since his return, and he might be there now. Do you still want to help?"

"Yes," they answered in unison, their voices clear, and strong.

"Can you Apparate?"

"I can," Susan said.

"I haven't passed my test yet. We could take the Thestrals. They're fun to ride."

Harry didn't quite agree, and searched for a way around the problem. He could try a Side-Along Apparition, like he had with Dumbledore, but if something happened to him, Luna would be stranded in harm's way. Brooms were out because he didn't want to wait for nightfall. Finally a plan formed in his head.

"Luna, come with me. I'll lend you my Invisibility Cloak, and you can take a Thestral. Susan and I will Apparate. There's a road leading into Little Hangleton from the north. We'll all meet there, just outside of town at two. Tell no one. Do you have some Muggle clothes you can put on?"

They nodded.

"Good. Luna, you can leave when you are ready, because I'm not sure how long it will take you to get there. Susan, I'll meet you here at one-thirty and we can sneak into Hogsmeade and Apparate from there." Harry, unnerved by the keen trust in their upturned faces, suddenly had second thoughts, "Better make it three-thirty and four. I want to get us some back-up, first."

-------

It was getting late, and still Lupin and Tonks weren't there. The Thestral pawed the ground. Luna stroked his neck to calm him. "You sure you told them the right place? We've been waiting over an hour," she said.

"Yeah. I don't understand why they're late."

"Maybe Voldemort attacked someone and they had to go and fight. If they are fighting him, then he isn't here." Luna looked at him quizzically.

"She's right," Susan said. "Let's go!"

Harry looked nervously up and down the road, still hoping to see them suddenly appear. "Come on Harry!" Susan added, impatiently.

"Okay. I suppose you're right." Harry turned to face the mansion in the distance. "Just be really careful."

Harry convinced Luna to keep the Invisibility Cloak on. Her idea of Muggle wear didn't really blend in. The silence hung around them like dust as they walked. The door of the old mansion was unlocked and Harry pushed it open while Luna removed the cloak. Once inside, he whispered, "Stick together and keep your eyes and ears open. If you find anything let me deal with it. Okay?"

They nodded.

Together they methodically searched the whole house starting on the lower level and working their way up. Harry could tell that Luna, at least knew, as he did, when they entered the room where the Riddles had been murdered. Also the upstairs room, where Harry had seen in a dream the Muggle groundskeeper killed. Other than that he sensed, and found, nothing.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing here. We better be getting back," Harry finally whispered.

The two girls had already started down the stairs when Harry thought he heard a light shuffle overhead. Probably a rat, he thought as he looked up.

Above him was the trap door to the attic, the rope hanging a good foot beyond his head. Reaching up, he pulled. The steps creaked down amid a shower of dust. He turned to call the girls back, but they had disappeared down the darkening stairs. He would just take a quick look. The dust assured him that the steps had not been used in a very long time.

His shock of unruly hair was barely above the floorboards when he suddenly froze, rose into the air and was spun upside down. Under him the trapdoor silently closed and a bolt slid in place, locking it.

Out of the darkness he heard a familiar sneer, "I've been waiting for you, Potter. You are so predictable. I really can't understand why Albus placed so much trust in you. I know you wonder the same thing about me." Snape laughed harshly. "He did trust me, didn't he? But he didn't listen to me. I warned him from the beginning that he cared about you too much, that he was acting exactly as the Dark Lord would expect him to act. I told him it was dangerous. That the Dark Lord would find a way to use it to our detriment. How many times did I tell him that he was being too permissive, giving you deferential treatment? That you were reckless, impulsive, and needed to learn self-control.

"He chose to ignore my advice. He chose to indulge you. It was always so. He took your side, no matter the facts. I was cast as the petty tyrant and you, the _Chosen One_. Do you even understand that he sacrificed himself for you? And look how you repay him. If I was the Dark Lord, you would be dead now. Tell me, who was the bigger fool?" He glared at Harry whose face was turning purple from the blood rushing down. Snape flicked his wrist and Harry turned right side up.

"Even with Draco it was the same. Albus said, 'wait and see. Give the boy a chance. He still might make the right choice. We have our plan if it comes to it.'

"I told him that he expects too much. I told him I didn't want to do it! That I couldn't!" Snape was almost screaming.

After a moment, Snape regained his composure and wandered over to the small alcove window. Leaning against the frame he gazed out. In a subdued, almost inaudible whisper, he continued, as if speaking to himself. "He said, 'you made your choice when you made the vow. I trust that you can, and you will. It's the only way. You have to.'"

There was a long moment of silence. Snape turned, the indignation clear in his voice, as he again addressed Harry. "He acted like I didn't have a plan, like I hadn't considered the consequences. He thought I had let my feelings for Draco cloud my judgement as his feelings for you often clouded his. He was wrong, I knew two ways around the vow: the Dark Lord's way and one other. But he refused to listen, wouldn't even consider them."

Snape circled Harry, hitting his open palm with his wand for emphasis. "He _forbade_ me, said the risk was too great on my soul. That it was impossible for any man. But what of the alternative? Did he consider the effects of that on my soul? Still, when he pleaded, I did it, just like he said I would. I did it knowing I would be labeled a traitor and that I would have to go to the Dark Lord. And you _dared_ to call me a _coward! _No one else would have had the courage! Could you murder Weasley? Could you survive at the Dark Lord's side?"

A hint of mania had been rising in his voice. Snape was right in his face, his rapid breaths hot on Harry's cheek. Harry wanted to run as if from a mad dog. He could see that Snape looked pale, emaciated, much like Draco had toward the end. The glint in his dark eyes did not hold steady as it usually did, but darted around the room. They reminded Harry of a trapped or injured animal's.

"No, I think not! But Albus said, 'We need you. You must be there. You are the only one who can do it.' I told him you would try to kill me. He simply said that I must not allow it. He said, 'You are older, wiser, more experienced. You know the Dark Arts better than anyone else on our side. You are one of the _best wizards _I have ever known and _essential_ to the plan.' He said that to me. But will anyone ever know? Do you know how it feels to be denied the only desire still left to you? No, of course not. How could you, you're famous Harry Potter!"

Snape paused, breathing deeply. When he continued, his voice was again cold, controlled and snarling. "Do you know what he said after that? He said that I could tell you the truth, that you would understand. He does not know you like I do. You will never listen to the truth. The truth is wasted on you. I knew that from the first moment I saw you. I could feel _it_. I could feel _him_. You are too much like _him_. You both believe you own the truth already."

Snape retreated back into the shadows, where his two eyes seemed to absorb the darkness like black holes. Harry heard, more than saw, him slump down on a box.

"If you succeed, you will get the credit. The Dark Lord might know my part before he dies, that will be a small satisfaction, but you will never see what you do not want to see." Snape chuckled softly. "Albus was a fool. He couldn't control his feelings. You can't control your feelings. And even I, who must practice great restraint, can not control mine. What might I have done, if it hadn't been for Buckbeak? We might have ruined everything, you and I, and Albus's death would have been in vain. Not that it will matter in the long run. I do not have the faith in you that Albus had.

"But to honor my promise, I must play it out. What choice is left to me?" Snape returned again to the window, silhouetted against the darkening sky.

"Albus was a fool placing all of his hope for success on the two of us -- two people who will not tolerate each other, much less work together. A one time Death Eater whom no one, save Albus, trusted, and whom everyone despises, and a rash, hotheaded school boy with no talent or self-control."

Snape turned to look at Harry. "I know what you are thinking. Right now you would risk everything to kill me. You want me dead more than you want the Dark Lord dead. Another great flaw that Albus refused to see. I have watched – or, to be more precise, abetted – two of the greatest and kindest wizards I have ever known, sacrifice themselves for you. And two more, though no great loss, in and of themselves, do the same. Do not repay them by letting hate blind and consume you."

Harry heard Luna and Susan calling for him. Snape strode over to stand in front of Harry again. "They can't hear us. I used my old spell. You know the one you used so freely to talk to your friends during class last year. Comes in handy, doesn't it? It is best that they don't find us. I will only keep you a short time more. I understand that you wish to talk, but it would only be a distraction. I need you to listen. You _must_ listen, if only this once in your life. I am here to warn you.

"The Dark Lord has already begun a series of attacks even as we speak. Go to Headquarters where you will be safe. Take your friends with you, so that you will not be tempted. Take your family – have the Order fetch them – for he plans to attack your aunt's house. Move them to safety immediately. They will have no chance if you do not.

"The Dark Lord is searching for something. I dare say, the same things that you are searching for. Unlike you, he needs to find only the last two, the two he lost the night he tried to kill you. He has some idea what he is looking for, and where."

Suddenly Snape leaned forward and sneered, "Seen your dear Mum and Dad lately?"

Harry wondered if the surprise showed in his eyes even if he couldn't even blink at the moment.

"I've heard that you found one and destroyed it. Is it true? Are you any closer? I need to know what you know." Harry's wand flew from his hand into Snape's other hand as Harry's feet lightly touched the floor. He was wandless, but unfrozen. "Tell me what you know."

"Never!"

"Then we will do it the hard way."

Harry dropped his eyes but the attic shimmered before him anyway. He had never learned to close his mind properly and knew he couldn't now. Perhaps if he concentrated though, he could throw Snape off. In his mind he formed the image of a book. He mentally opened the book to the inscription. "Who's P.A.E.?!" he managed to shout, suddenly, breaking through into Snape's mind as he had done once before.

_Snape was young, younger than Harry was now, and was standing alone in front of the Mirror of Erised. In the mirror, Snape's arms were around a girl who was crying, her face buried against his chest. He was stroking her blond hair and saying. "I don't mind your sister. Really I don't. She's even been nice to me a few times. I don't like him and his friends . . . and, I dare say, they don't like me, but it doesn't matter. It won't keep us apart. I won't let it. . . . I care about you. I love you . . . and you love me. Nothing else matters."_

The scene swiftly changed.

_Snape, who looked like he was in his early twenties, was standing behind a girl, with the same blond hair, her back toward him. Snape was again speaking. " . . . you have to let me explain. I went to your sister's wedding because I wanted to see you and I knew you'd be there. I wanted to tell you that I still love you. But I didn't have a chance. You left early with him. _

_"Then, I heard that you were getting married. How could I not try to stop you? I'm sorry for what I did. It was petty, mean-spirited . . . immature. I hurt you. I never wanted to do that. I'm sorry, it's just that I couldn't idly stand by while you married him. . . . _

_"After that, I was spiteful. I wanted to get back at those I felt had destroyed my life. My chance for happiness. That's when I joined the Dark Lord. I realized immediately it was a mistake. I went to Dumbledore and asked for his help. He didn't trust me, but he understood that I could be useful and prove myself at the same time. It is at his insistence, that I remain with the Dark Lord as a spy. I swear to you, my heart is not in it. My heart is not his. It has always been yours. Please forgive me." _

_She nodded slightly. Snape approached her and encircled her with his arms. After a moment, she seemed to soften, and relaxed back against him. He brushed her hair to the side, kissing her neck. "I love you. I'll always love you. Will you leave him and come away with me? We will go far away and leave this all behind. To America, perhaps, or Australia." She nodded again, and began to turn toward him. In another moment Harry would be able to see her face . . ._

The scene shifted again.

_They were in a large, cavernous room. Voldemort was looking about the room at five hooded Death Eaters. "Tell me. Who is the child?" _

_One of the Death Eaters stepped forward, "Master, there were two born at the end of the seventh month. A boy to the Longbottoms, and a boy to the Potters." _

"_Two? Which is the one the prophecy foretold?" He scanned the faces encircling him, before regarding one in particular. "You've been practicing, Severus. Much better, you do me proud. But tell me, why are you denying me? What are you hiding?" _

"_Nothing, Master."_

"_Do not lie to me! You may be blocking me from reading your mind, but I can still tell when you are lying. You're the one who heard the prophecy. Did you tell me everything, or did you hold something back? Do you have a clue as to which boy? Tell me what you are thinking -- you know I have ways to force you!"_

_Snape hesitated, swallowing."I told you all that I heard of the prophecy, Master. But if I was to pick . . . I would choose Longbottom."_

"_The Longbottom child? Why?"_

"_Because Lily Potter is a mudblood." Snape spat the word out as if it was a bitter taste in his mouth. "Could a halfblood child be a worthy threat to you?" There were murmurs of agreement from the others. _

"_Continue. You can't disguise your feelings. I feel your disgust, hate, but there is another emotion mixed in. Want, or perhaps desire, emanating from you. Yes, desire I think. There is more. Speak!"_

"_Master, I do not want YOU to kill the Potters. I have my own plans for them. James and I and Lily have an unpleasant history together at Hogwarts. I want Lily alive for, for . . . let's just say, personal reasons." Harry heard some snickers from the other Death Eaters, his own blood rising angrily. "And I want James alive to witness what I have done." _

_Voldemort's lip curved up slightly. "She is pretty, isn't she?"_

_Snape sneered back. "Yes, my Lord."_

"_Perhaps I should keep her for myself."_

_Snape's face went pale. Voldemort walked over to him and draped his arm across Snape's shoulder. "Don't worry, Severus, you know you are like a son to me. So just for you, I will spare the girl if I can, and maybe even James if I'm feeling generous." Voldemort lowered his voice, "That is, if you have the potion I requested?" Snape reached into his robe and handed him a small flask which Voldemort stuffed into his own robe. _

_Voldemort dropped his arm from around Snape's shoulder, and addressed the Death Eaters. "I will kill both boys. No one is to kill them but me. I will go to the Potters first. You three, go now and delay the Longbottoms, until I get there." _

_Three Death Eaters swept from the room. _

"_Severus, I want you to go to Hogwarts. Here, take this." Voldemort reached into his robe and handed him an object that looked very much to Harry like a magnifying glass._

"_What is it, Master?"_

"_A qui lumen oculus. A handy tool. It will vibrate when I am ready for you. Make sure you are alone. Look through it and you will be able to see what I see. When the deeds are done, convince Dumbledore to go to the Hog's Head with you for a drink. I wish to get rid of him tonight as well. Go!" _

_Snape headed for the door. Voldemort turned to the last remaining Death Eater. "Come, Peter, I have a special treat for you." _

Snape finally wretched his mind away. Harry lurched for him, eager to rip him apart with his bare hands. Harry had not thought his hatred of Snape could grow, but it had. It was rising in him to a point where he was sure he would explode! Snape and his mother! He felt like he might retch. And Snape must have watched his parents' murder. Seen the attack and did nothing! Sparks erupted around him.

"Control yourself, Potter!" Snape yelled, as he repelled the attack by slamming Harry against the peaked wall. Old chairs and other debris tumbled and crashed in upon him. "How dare you! . . . You always did have a nasty habit of being where you have no right to be! You seem destined to exact from me all that I hold vital!"

Livid with anger, they glared at each other. Below them they heard the muffled calls of Susan and Luna and the sound of feet running up the hallway.

"HOW DARE . . . HOW DARE . . . MY MUM . . . !"

"Use your brain for once, Potter. Surely, you remember the pensieve and your little unauthorized excursion into my memory. You can't honestly believe I ever desired your mother."

"Voldemort believed it and you can't lie to him!"

"Yes, you see the skill I employ. Maybe you can still learn something useful. Impressive as your little trick was, it will not work with the Dark Lord. Reflect on my exact words. It is impossible to remove all emotion. Emotion is integral to who you are. But you can search for the right words, words that will not betray you. I told the truth, without telling the whole truth. The Dark Lord assumed the rest. I simply did not correct him."

By now there was banging and pops on the other side of the trap door. Through gritted teeth, Harry asked the one question that had strangely bubbled up to the top of his thoughts, "Who was she?'

"No concern of yours."

"You were in love?"

"Do you find it so hard to fathom? Of course you do. You think I was born this way. Sometimes, Potter, it is luckier not to know your parents. I will tell you only that she was my first chance at redemption. Albus was my second."

A sad resignation crept into Snape's voice. "With each moment we create our future. It is the little choices we make, or more often, the little things we fail to do, that lead us to where we are. And yet we are always surprised at where we find ourselves. Do not make the wrong decision today. Save your aunt and her family. You don't have much time. Trust me on just this one thing."

"Trust you? Dumbledore trusted you!"

"Yes, . . . he did."

Harry's wand clattered to the floor. Snape was gone.

* * *

Next up: The battles begin. Please review. 


	16. Into the Fray

A/N: We are now at the point where the puzzle pieces start to fall into place, and you reap the reward for paying attention to clues from previous chapters. I would hate to think that I lost you at this point, but I have not received any reviews of my last chapter and only one of chapter 14. Please let me know that someone is still reading this.

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**PART FIVE**

**Into the Fray**

_--------_

"_**You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be!" – Dumbledore, GoF p 708**_

"_**. . . the prophecy does not mean you have to do anything! . . . you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy!" . . . he understood at last . . . It was . . . the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. – HBP p 512**_

_------_

The trap door continued to resist their attempts at opening it. _Damn Snape and his silent spells. _It was always easier to figure out the proper counter-spell if you knew the original. Harry wished Hermione was there. She would've opened it in no time. When it finally dawned on him that if Snape had Apparated out, then he probably could to, he was glad Hermione wasn't there. He felt foolish enough for taking over half hour to figure out something that would have been obvious to her.

-------

They stumbled up the dark ribbon of road toward the waiting Thestral. The moon had not yet risen, and with the occasional passing car, they dared not light their wands. Harry struggled additionally under a barrage of questions from Susan and Luna. Trying to explain what had happened with Snape, to their satisfaction without divulging too much information, was tricky, and required even more concentration than their blind passage through the night.

" . . . well he didn't kill you, did he? I think that should tell you something."

Harry considered Luna's words. He had, once again, been at Snape's mercy. Snape could have easily obliterated him or hauled him back to Voldemort, but he hadn't. Still, there was no way he would trust him. He must be playing at something, though what, Harry had no idea. Even more puzzling, Snape, though he had not used the word – this nagged Harry slightly, but he couldn't say why, – had indicated Voldemort was looking for two horcruxes he had lost. _How does one lose a horcrux? _

Snape also said that he'd heard that another one had been destroyed. _How could Snape know? And did that mean that Dumbledore had confided in him about the first two? And if Snape knew, then did Voldemort know? Did it also follow, therefore, that he did not know about the other one? Which one did he know about? How had he heard? Was someone Harry trusted a spy? Who? _Harry mentally recounted everyone who had been at the finding and destroying of the two horcruxes. He trusted them all, except Kreacher. _Had Kreacher managed to disobey a direct order or was there another explanation? _Harry's mind whirled. He stopped suddenly and Luna walked into him.

"Oh, sorry. Harry, what is it?"

"Voldemort dug up my parents' grave. I've been dreaming about them since, but I haven't mentioned it to anyone. Snape knew! He asked me if I had seen my parents lately? He could only know . . . if it is Voldemort who is invading my dreams again, trying to influence me! They point to their left hands. . . . They point . . . to where their rings should be! They would have been wearing their rings that night! Voldemort is looking for the rings! But they're not . . ."

"Maybe he doesn't know what they're not," Luna offered in her dreamy voice.

Harry stared at her. "Right! My aunt has one. I gave the other two to Ginny."

"So, do you think that's why he attacked Ginny's house?" Luna mused. "And why he now plans to attack your aunt's house?"

"Of course! I have to get to Ginny. Can you two get back to Hogwarts on your own?"

"What about your aunt?" Susan asked. "Snape told you to move them somewhere safe before it's too late."

"They'll have to wait. I have to warn Ginny first."

"But Ginny's at Hogwarts! It's protected!" Susan protested. "Your aunt is defenseless! You have to help them!"

"I'll go," Luna offered. "I met your cousin once. He was nice. Maybe he'll remember me."

"I'll go with you. We can't leave them to Voldemort! I know how he deals with aunts," Susan said determinedly. "It's dark now. We can both ride on the Thestral without fear of being seen."

"Right. Just promise me one thing: If you're too late, if Death Eaters are already there, just get the hell out as fast as you can! Don't take any risks! If you are in time, take them to Mrs. Figg's. She'll know how to help. She's a Squib who lives in the purple house on Wisteria Walk. My aunt knows where. I'll meet you there as soon as I'm sure Ginny's safe."

* * *

The Thestral dropped down into the back garden of Number Four Privet Drive. Luna slid off its back. "Susan, you can open your eyes now. We're here." 

Susan loosened her white knuckled grip and disentangled her fingers from the Thestral's mane. "I'd rather die than ride that thing again."

"I suppose they're not to everyone's taste. Still, it was best we arrive together in case of trouble. I won't mind if you Apparate back, though."

"The house looks undisturbed. We'd better knock on the front door." Susan led the way around the side of the house and up the front steps.

"Hi," Luna said when Dudley opened the door. "Do you remember me? We met at King's Cross two summers ago. I'm Luna and this is Susan the girl you were . . ."

Dudley, recognizing them, cut Luna off before she could finish and embarrass him. "Yeah, yeah, okay, what are you doing _here?" _He paused momentarily, fidgeting, "Harry doesn't live here anymore."

"We know, we just left him. We came to warn you," Susan answered.

Petunia appeared in the doorway behind Dudley. "Who's there, Dudley, at this hour?"

"Some friends of Harry's."

"Harry's friends. Why in the world . . ." Petunia peered around Dudley's broad shoulders. "It's you! You've . . . you've come . . ." Petunia stepped back, her hand fluttering in front of her mouth, her eyes blinking fast.

"Yes, I'm Luna and this is Susan," Luna tilted her head, looking curiously at Petunia who was gaping at her. She pushed past Dudley. "We've come to warn you. We think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is going to attack you. We need to take you . . ."

"What? Attack? Here?" Petunia clutched the top of her robe, her face turning white. "Wh-wh-where's Harry?"

"Well, he had someone . . . somewhere else he had to be. He plans to come as soon as he can. In the meantime, he said for us to take you to Mrs. Figg's," Susan replied. Dudley backed up so that she wouldn't brush against him as she also entered.

"Vernon!" Petunia screamed. "Dudley, close the door! Lock it! Latch all the windows! Vernon!"

"That won't keep them out. It's best if we just leave immediately," Susan said, impatience edging her voice.

"Dudley the door! Let me get my husband. Vernon!" Petunia scurried up the stairs.

Dudley closed the door, then looked around dazed, unsure of what to do next. He had dreamed of seeing them again, but not like this. "Umm, would you like to sit down, or can I get you something to drink?"

Susan, who had been staring up the stairs after Petunia turned, clutched the front of Dudley's shirt and screamed in his face. "No! We don't have much time! Leave everything! Can't you get them to hurry? It isn't safe to stay here! HE'LL TORTURE AND KILL YOU!"

Dudley froze. Her face was inches from his and her look crazed. Upstairs, the muffled exclamations were growing louder, until, from the top of the stairs, they heard Vernon angrily shouting, "After all we did for that ungrateful brat, he COULDN'T EVEN COME HIMSELF to warn us?! How do you know we should trust these two?!"

Dudley, gasping in a breath, wretched his eyes away from Susan's and yelled up the stairs, "Mum, Dad, let's go! They're all right. I've seen them at the station with Harry before."

Vernon charged down into the foyer, red-faced. "You say we're about to be attacked by, by . . ."

"Yes. At least we think so," Luna answered.

". . . and all they can send is two schoolgirls? This is preposterous. I'm not leaving my home."

"You're not su-su-sure ?" Petunia stammered, looking at Luna, her eyes wide.

"Well not exactly, but . . ." Luna began.

"Humph. Then go!" Vernon pointed to the door.

"Dad, will you just listen to them?"

". . . see, we were searching this old, abandoned house that belongs to You-Know-Who. Harry went to check the attic and was cornered by Snape and . . ."

"Snape?" Petunia gasped.

"Yes. Do you know him? He used to be a professor of ours, but then he killed Dumbledore and joined You-Know-Who. Anyway, he told Harry to move you to safety because You-Know-Who planned to attack your house," Luna continued. Susan was nervously peering out the front window from behind the curtains.

"What the hell for? Vernon fumed. "And why should anyone believe this Snape person if he killed . . ."

Petunia seemed to have suddenly grasped the gravity of the situation. She grabbed Vernon and Dudley each by an arm and began tugging them toward the door. "We have to go! NOW!"

Vernon continued to protest.

"NOW, VERNON!" she said, swinging around so that she was looking him square in the face. "WE MUST! NOW!"

She flung open the door. Petunia scampered down the stairs dragging Vernon and Dudley behind her, Vernon no longer resisting. "HURRY!"

Luna and Susan followed quickly behind them. They were half way down the block when a loud bang sounded from inside the house. "They're here! _RUN! _I'll delay them," Susan urgently whispered.

"Susan, NO! Harry said . . ." but Susan was already sprinting back toward the house. Luna turned to the three in front of her. "RUN! Go to Mrs. Figg's!" When she pivoted back to the house, Susan was already disappearing through the door. Luna ran back down the street and up the steps after her.

Dudley stood rooted, resisting Vernon and Petunia frantic tugging at his arms, imploring him to hurry. Flashes of light spilled out through the open door and backlit the curtains at the windows. The sound of furniture crashing split the quiet night. Only partially aware that his mum was pleading with him, he hardly heard her desperate words to his father when he wouldn't budge. "Vernon he mustn't! It's the prophecy. The note the owl brought." Dudley didn't have time to wonder what she meant. He had drawn that face a thousand times or more. He had heard Luna's words in his head almost as often. How could he desert them? They had risked themselves to warn them. They were in danger because of him.

He twisted free from his parents' grasp. He heard his mum cry out in despair, but did not hesitate any longer. In a moment he was barreling through the door, his fists swinging. He connected with a head, and then another, knocking them both out. He was on the third one sending a punch to the stomach. There was a flash of green light and pain beyond pain, his arms suddenly flailing against empty air, his opponent having evaporated.

* * *

Lord Voldemort strode across the room his robe billowing behind him. He towered above the unconscious forms of Luna, Susan and Vernon briefly, then turned and kicked at a Death Eater to rouse him. "Explain." 

The Death Eater cowered back against the wall. "Master, we weren't expecting . . . the girls fought back and then the Muggle attacked Amycus and me and knocked us out."

"Enough! You had them outnumbered by more than two to one, and yet four of you have been brought down by two girls, and _two more by a Muggle!_" He spat the last part. "Where's Goyle?"

Another of the injured Death Eaters answered him, "He Disapparated when the Muggle attacked him."

Voldemort turned to three of the five Death Eaters that had just arrived with him. "Tie them up, then find Goyle. I will not tolerate cowardice or desertion." His high, cold voice was hard. "Nott, search the house." He twisted around and looked down at Petunia who was crying beside the rag-doll sprawled Dudley. "Where are the rings?"

"Wh-wh-what rings?"

"Your sister's rings."

"I only have this one." She struggled to take it off. Voldemort waved his wand. Petunia screamed as ring and severed finger sailed through the air toward him.

Dropping the finger, Voldemort held the bloody engagement ring before him. "This is not the one I want." He tossed the ring on the floor beside her. "Harry Potter has the other one." It was not a question. Muggles were easy to read.

Nott came down the stairs carrying the metal box Lily had given Petunia when they were children. "I only found this, Master."

"What's in it?" Voldemort asked Petunia who was wrapping her bleeding hand in the hem of her robe.

Petunia looked up. "Just some old letters from my sister," she whimpered. Voldemort aimed a spell at it, blasting it into smoldering, melted gobs of metal, the paper contents instantly incinerated. Voldemort ran the tip of his wand through the ashes. "Nothing. Is there anything else of your sister's in the house?"

"No," squeaked Petunia.

"Kill them!"

"Master," Petunia lifted her head and peered into the shadows at the familiar voice. "They are Potter's relatives and friends. They could be useful hostages."

Voldemort hesitated. "Perhaps you are right, Severus. Take them to the Ministry along with these useless vermin," Voldemort indicated the bound Death Eaters. "The battle is won there, only a few holdouts left to be eradicated. Leave them in Wormtail's watch. Meet me in Hogsmeade. My spies have informed me of a way to breach Hogwarts' defenses. I have already given the order. Hurry or you will miss the fun. You are eager to witness the sacking of Hogwarts, are you not?"

Voldemort smiled into the shadows at Snape, then swept his robe around him and strode across the wreckage that had once been the Dursleys' clean and proper house. "It is time I paid Harry Potter another visit. Before tomorrow dawns, I will rule the Wizarding world. I will rule Britain."

When Voldemort and the other Death Eaters had departed, Snape pointed his wand at the remaining Death Eaters tied up in the corner. They slumped over. Only then did he face Petunia.

"Petunia," Snape said gently. "Petunia, I . . ." Petunia did not move, except for the continuing slight heave of her shoulders with each soft sob. "Here," Snape pointed his wand at the crimson, blood-soaked robe and the bleeding, throbbing pain from her severed finger stopped. "Better?"

Petunia looked up, her wet eyes flashing. "Do you think you can mend my pain so easily? It would have been better if you had let him kill us!"

"I told Harry . . ." Snape responded angrily. ". . . I told him to move you to safety! I thought he would get the Order to help! Instead he sends these two!"

"They fought bravely! Do not blame them or Harry for your own failings. Why didn't you _come? _Why did _you_ send me the rings?"

"I couldn't . . . the Dark Lord . . . the rings? . . . the rings are nothing . . . mementos. I only thought you might want them."

"If they are nothing, then why does _he_ want them?"

"The Dark Lord is mistaken."

"And the prophecy about Dudley? Is it a mistake, too?"

"I do not know. I heard it from a fellow teacher at Hogwarts, Sibyll Trelawney. I do not put much stock in what she says, but I was the only one with her when she spoke it. She indicated that it concerned Harry's cousin. I thought you should know. She has prophesied before, and others have given her credence."

"Then Dudley will not . . . come back? He will die?"

"He is not dead yet. If we get him treatment . . . If Harry had done as I told him . . ."

"DO NOT BLAME HARRY! It is your own inaction! You knew he would not come. Why should he? The prophecy foretold the truth. We gave Dudley everything and Harry nothing. We told ourselves we couldn't afford better, but the truth is, I was resentful. I blamed him for losing you, and my daughter." A look of question and surprise slid across Snape's face. "But it was not his fault, he was only a baby. _This, _is not his fault. It was I who pampered Dudley and could not imagine what he lacked. It was I who did not raise Dudley and Harry as brothers as Albus Dumbledore asked. Harry did not come to help us because he does not care what happens to any of us.

"If I am to blame anyone other than myself, then or now, I blame you. You _knew_ he planned to kill Lily and James and you did nothing to stop him! You did not come for me! You are still with him!"

"On Albus's orders."

"He is dead! You killed him!"

"Petunia, it is not how it seems. It is complicated . . . I never stopped loving you, but I knew you could not love me, would not come with me, after Lily and James's death. I knew when you found out I knew and could not stop it . . ."

"Like you could not stop this?" She spread her arms, indicating the devastation.

"Yes. Like this." Snape's voice was sad, resigned.

"You had . . . have such little faith. I should have known the first time I ran away and you did not come after me."

"Petunia, I'm sorry, I . . ."

"What happens now?"

"I will take you to the Ministry of Magic like the Dark Lord commanded and hope for a chance to save you."

"Why not save us now?"

"I can't. But, I swear, I will do what I can to keep you safe."

"I do not believe you! Twice now, you have let children do what you should have done if you ever cared at all for me! Instead of avenging my family's deaths, you fight at _his _side against my family, against Harry! How am I to believe anything you've ever told me? You are a murderer, liar and coward!" Pain seared across Snape's face, but he said nothing.

After a long moment she dropped her eyes from him to Vernon. When she continued, her voice was quietly pleading. "I will not leave him, now or ever. If he dies, let me die too. But if you ever spoke even a shred of truth to me, then find a way to save Dudley. If you do, perhaps I may learn to forgive you in the hereafter. And . . . Luna, save her and her friend too, I believe she may be our lost daughter." Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. "And . . .," Petunia glanced up at him now, "help Harry. For the sake of two lonely teens who believed, if only for a moment, that they too deserved their heart's desires, find it within to do what is right."

* * *

Snape transported them to a large, government-like building. Ignoring the lift, he took them down a long dark staircase and led them through a maze of passageways, everyone but Petunia floating unconscious before him. After leaving the Death Eaters in the care of a wizard Petunia remembered meeting at Lily's wedding rehearsal, he took the rest to a large stone amphitheater where he worked with his wand for quite a while over Dudley. 

He then went out through one of the many doors, reappearing a short time later with a potion he forced down the throats of Dudley, Vernon, Luna and Susan as he murmured some words over them and waved his wand some more. He then conjured up mats and blankets and laid them out, as if concerned for their comfort.

Only then did he speak to Petunia. "I've done all I can. The potion I gave them will make them sleep. This potion," Snape took a flask from the folds of his robe, "will wake everyone but your son. He needs more care than I can give him." Snape set the flask down on one of the stone benches.

"Wormtail is in the hall guarding the main entrance and the Death Eaters I brought here with us. I have to go now, or the Dark Lord will wonder what is keeping me. Drink this," he held the original vial of potion out toward her. "It will make you sleep."

For the first time that night, her own eyes red and puffy, Petunia gazed deep into Snape's dark eyes, searching for the hope she so desperately needed. But, no. No. Petunia realized Snape was right, finally internalizing something she had been pondering since Dumbledore sent her the howler. She realized that her whole life, she had blamed others, telling herself that they, and circumstance, left her no choice but to sacrifice her own happiness for the good of her family.

Now, she admitted that it wasn't for their good, but to shroud her own fear and scarcity of faith. Snape was right. She would not have gone with him, but not because he couldn't save Lily, James or the rest of her family. And not because she couldn't have loved him.

Petunia lowered her eyes, resting them on her mutilated hand. No. The truth was, they had both lacked the necessary faith in themselves. In each other. So how could she hope now to find what she needed? She would have to do what she had earlier begged Snape to do. She would have to unlock her own heart and search there. If, and when, she found what she needed inside herself, then, and only then, could she hope to recognize it in another.

Petunia resigned herself to the fact that there was no way she could know what was in Snape's heart. Though the others appeared to be sleeping peacefully, the potion could easily be a poison from which they would never awake. If she refused, what then? Would Snape force her to take it? If he left her unbound and undrugged, what would it accomplish? She would not, could not, leave them even to save herself. She had asked to share Vernon's fate.

Petunia took the vial. At least, if Snape told the truth, it would give her temporary relief from this nightmare, an escape into sleep, hopefully dreamless.

As she had done once before in her life, against every instinct, she raised the vial to her lips and swallowed.

* * *

Next up: a flashback. Please, pretty please, review. 


	17. First Chance at Redemption

A/N: Thank you. At least, I know two people are still reading this.

This chapter is a flashback and was written early on and then I had to decide where to fit it in. I figured here was a good place, in case the last chapter left you wondering . . .

Enjoy.

* * *

**First Chance at Redemption**

**---------**

_**He was astounded that she had remembered this scrap of information about the magical world for so long, when she usually put all her energies into pretending it didn't exist. – Harry, OotP p 32**_

_**All he knew was that he was not the only person in the room who had an inkling of what Lord Voldemort being back might mean. . . . The furious pretense that Aunt Petunia had maintained all Harry's life – that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with Uncle Vernon – seemed to have fallen away. – Harry, OotP p 38 **_

"_**I do not think that she (Merope) wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen" – Dumbledore, HBP p262**_

"_**. . . the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."– Dumbledore, SS p 297**_

------------

Petunia sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table looking at an old copy of _The Quibbler _she had found in the common room. The stories were fascinating, and she just loved the moving photographs. Still, she wasn't really reading it, that she would do later.

Right now the paper served as shield, a pretense as her ears strained to catch bits of stray conversation drifting over from the small groups of students at each table. Every so often she would turn her head slightly and just barely peak over the edge of the paper, surveying the girls and boys in each group and the room in general. She didn't want to appear obvious, like it was her first time, even though it was.

The clear blue of the morning sky showed above and there were festive garlands, decorated Christmas trees, and shiny silver and gold ribbons everywhere. Everything was just so wonderful.

She was glad she had told Lily that she wanted to read. If she had sat with them, she would have had to listen to Lily and James the whole time. She liked James well enough, and she was really happy for them, but after awhile she really started to feel like a third wheel. This was better. It gave her more opportunity to surreptitiously study everything. And besides, she was less likely to embarrass Lily if she wasn't hanging around her all the time.

Petunia glanced over her paper at a loud group at the other end of the Great Hall. She had just heard the words ". . . and then the stupid Muggle fell off the ladder!" If there was more, it was drowned out by the raucous laughter. One boy at the table, with dark slick hair, wasn't laughing. Ignoring the group, he was hunched over a book. She watched him for a moment until he raised his eyes and locked them onto hers. She quickly ducked behind her paper again.

_---------_

The common room was empty. James and Lily had wandered off somewhere and there was nothing to do. Petunia already had explored Gryffindor Tower soon after her arrival. Professor Dumbledore had brought her to spend Christmas break at Hogwarts by special request of her parents. Her mum was really sick and they had to travel to London for treatment. Instead of making the girls spend the holidays sitting in hospital waiting rooms they arranged for Lily to remain at Hogwarts and for Petunia to join her. When James found out Lily was staying, he naturally decided to stay too.

Petunia exited though the portrait hole and started down the steps. At the first hallway she stopped and looked in both directions. How would she ever find her way back, especially with the moving staircases she'd encountered earlier? Well, she really didn't care. There was too much to see to remain cooped up in the common room. Anyway, she had all day to run into someone to give her directions.

She turned right and headed down a long hallway stopping to talk to the people in each painting she passed and to study the tapestries and even inspect the suits of armor. As she crossed a corridor, she heard footsteps and her named called. She turned to see Professor Dumbledore approaching.

"Where are you off to, Petunia?"

"Just exploring, sir," she said, as he motioned for her to walk with him.

"Where's Lily?"

"Well, she and James are like this," Petunia held up two crossed fingers.

Dumbledore chuckled, "I see. It looks like you could use a tour guide. Someone . . . disentangled. And I think there's a candidate just up ahead."

Petunia looked in the direction the professor indicated. Further down the corridor, a door was slightly ajar, and as they drew closer, Petunia could hear someone repeating some words over and over again with slight variations like some nonsense children's rhyme.

Dumbledore pushed the door open. "Ah, Severus . . ." The boy pocketed his wand and looked down as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. ". . . if you're not too busy, I have a favor to ask. This is Petunia and she is a visitor to our school and needs a tour guide. Can you spare a few hours?"

"Yes, Professor," he answered without looking up.

"Good. Good, well then, I'll leave you to it. See you at lunch."

They both watched Professor Dumbledore disappear out the door pulling it closed behind him. Petunia turned to the boy she had noticed reading at breakfast. He had chiseled features, a crooked nose as if it had been broken once, piercing black eyes, and long, lank, oily hair encircling his pale face. "It's okay, you don't have to," Petunia said smiling, and turned to go.

"No, . . . wait. I don't mind. I wasn't doing anything important," the boy replied.

"What were you doing?"

"I was perfecting a spell." He smiled shyly. "Come on, I'll show you around." He opened the door and led her back into the hall.

Petunia wanted to know everything. She asked loads of questions. Besides, the more she kept him talking, the less likely it was that he would ask her any questions she didn't want to answer just yet. She asked what he knew about the paintings and the people in them. She asked about the classrooms, the subjects and professors. Whenever possible she would offer a tidbit she remembered from Lily's letters and stories. Petunia was pleased. It was going much easier than she expected. She felt like a kid in a toy store. There was so much to see and so much she didn't know.

Severus appeared to be was a quiet, serious boy, who admittedly needed to wash his hair, but otherwise interesting and knowledgeable, and as the morning progressed, he smiled more easily. A few times he even laughed, not at her it seemed, but with her, apparently amused by her wonderment. After they had wandered up and down staircases and along many a winding corridor, Petunia plopped onto a window seat and looked out at the grounds. Severus leaned against the alcove wall.

The sun was high and fell across Petunia, the light shining on her blond hair, half of her pleasant, long oval, face bright, the other half cast in deep shadow. Her delicate hands rested on the rough stone of the sill. Severus looked away and restlessly shifted his feet.

"You know, I haven't looked at Hogwarts like this since my first year. I sometimes forget how it is. Thank you, for letting me show it to you."

Petunia blushed. "No thank you. You've been a real prince! You rescued me from a lonely day on my own."

"Actually, Prince was my mum's maiden name, so, by blood, I'm only half a prince." Severus joked, looking embarrassed.

"Well, half a prince is better than no prince," she laughed. "However, today, you've been a total prince, and I think that's what I'm going to call you from now on. Don't be mad, but to be honest, I'm not taken with your given name. It's spelled like 'sever us,' isn't it? That doesn't sound very . . . well . . . nice."

Severus frowned, "I know. My father named me and I never particularly liked the name either. But I don't know about Prince? What if someone hears you?"

"It will be my secret name for you, then. I'll only use it when we're alone. That is, if I see you again?"

"It's almost lunchtime now, and you haven't been out on the grounds and we've only covered a small portion of the castle. If you'd like, I'll take you to your common room to get your cloak and after lunch I'll show you around some more."

"I'd love that. If you really don't mind. I'd hate to keep you from studying your spells."

"Oh, that was just a silly spell I'm inventing and haven't quite got right."

"You invent your own spells?"

"Yes . . . but don't tell anyone."

_---------_

Prince and Petunia spent almost every waking hour of the next few days together. They seemed to have the place to themselves. The only time they saw other people were at night and for meals, and by unspoken common accord they each continued to settle at their original places with their books.

Lily occasionally questioned Petunia about her days, but Petunia remained vague, though seemingly content, and Lily was too preoccupied with James to delve. Petunia enjoyed the time in the evenings that she spent with her sister and James, but she began to long for the days. Unfortunately, they were passing much too quickly. The holiday would be over soon and she would have to go back home.

She had never envied Lily like she did now. How she longed for more time. How she wished she didn't have to tell Prince what she had so far avoided telling him: That she was a Muggle and that Lily was her sister. She didn't know if either fact would matter to him, but she knew from Lily's letters that some wizards didn't like Muggles or Muggle-born wizards. But now she knew she either needed to tell him the truth or disappear back to her old life and never see him again. Both were impossible. She had few friends and had never had anything close to a boyfriend. She had never been this happy before, either. Never, ever. It was unfair that it had to end.

---------

The weather matched Petunia's mood. It was dreary. The early snow had changed to sleet and was slamming against the windows with a loud, incessant beat. Winds howled and drafts floated through the corridors and leaked under the door into the gloomy classroom where Petunia and Prince sat together at an old wooden table.

"What's wrong? You're quiet today," Prince asked, rubbing his finger over an old scar in the wood.

"Oh, it's just that the holidays are almost over and I'll be leaving."

"Leaving? Why? Where are you going?"

"Home. I only came to spend Christmas with my sister, because my mum's really sick."

"I don't want you to go. Can't you transfer to Hogwarts?"

"No," she rummaged in the pocket of the robe she had borrowed from Lily. "Here, I want you to have this. It's one of the books I've been reading at meals. I hope you like it. I inscribed it . . . in the front." Petunia handed the book to Prince.

"Thank you," Prince said, reading the title. "I've never heard of Edgar Allan Poe."

"He's an American writer. A Muggle. Prince, . . . there's something I have to tell you."

Severus opened the cover and read the inscription out loud: "_To My Dearest Prince, Thank you for a wonderful holiday. I thought you might enjoy E.A.P. Love Always, P.A.E."_

"P.A.E.?"

"My middle name is Anne. Petunia Anne Ev . . ."

Prince jumped up, grabbing her hand. "Let me show you something. This way." He pulled her out of her chair and a short distance along the maze of zig-zagging hallways.

"Prince, wait," Petunia gasped out of breath, "you should know that I'm . . ."

"We're here. Close your eyes. Don't peek now." He led her into a room, stopping before a large mirror. "Okay open your eyes and tell me what you see in the mirror."

"Well, what do you think I see? I see us."

Prince whirled her around ecstatically laughing. "I see the same thing."

"Of course! It's a mirror, silly. What else would you expect to see?"

"That's just it. This is the Mirror of Erised. It reflects your heart's desire!" Severus directed her to face the mirror again. Look! Look closely!

Petunia gazed into the mirror. They stood there, side-by-side, their hands clasped, reflected as they would be in any mirror. But now, she saw the difference. They were older and Prince's hair was clean and cut shorter, his robes new and fitted. Her lank figure was filled out slightly in the front, as if she were . . . pregnant. They were smiling, beaming, happy, like she had been over the past few days, but not as she felt right now. Right now, tears were filling her eyes and spilling over.

Prince put his hands on Petunia's shoulders and pulled her toward him. "What's wrong? Don't you understand? We both want the same thing. The mirror doesn't lie."

"No, but I do!" Petunia twisted out of his grasp and turned her back to him. "You don't know me."

"I know enough to know I've fallen in love with you."

"No, you don't. I haven't been truthful. I'm a . . . I'm a Muggle," Petunia sobbed.

There was silence for a moment, then with apparent difficulty, Prince said, "It doesn't matter."

"No, you're too clever. You're going to be a great wizard. You even invent your own spells. I've never heard of anyone else doing that. You can't love a Muggle!"

"A month ago when I first found this mirror, I would have agreed with you. You know what I saw then? A famous wizard that everyone looked up to. A powerful, respected wizard that no one dared mess with, that engendered fear. A wizard to rival Professor Dumbledore -- he's the best, you know? I admit I have ambition. I still see all that, but now I see you by my side. I see us.

"I'll still be a great wizard. I can hold my own against any student in Hogwarts – one on one, and most of the teachers too. I don't care if you're a Muggle. I'll take care of us both. No one will dare bother us. And, unlike most Slytherins, I never hated all Muggles . . . just my dad."

"Your dad is a Muggle?" Petunia's tears were slowing.

"Was. Look, look what I see in the mirror now."

She turned toward him. "What?"

"This." Prince took her in his arms and kissed her gently, then passionately. Tears overflowed again, streaming down Petunia's face.

"What? Did I do it wrong? Sorry, it's my first . . ."

"No, no, look in the mirror. They're tears of happiness. I feel like Cinderella whose Prince Charming has finally come for her. Do you know that story? I always felt like an unwelcome guest in my own home. The ugly kitchen scullion, not invited to the ball. The one that has to stay home and take care of the ailing mum while . . ."

"Shhh . . . never again, my beautiful Petunia!"

"You don't have to . . . " Petunia was blushing now and talking quickly. "I know I'm not beautiful. Not like my sister. But I don't mind anymore. I know I look like I've been on one of those old turn-screw torture contraptions where I've been stretched out from head to toe -- hardly got anything you'd call a figure, and on top of that I've got these big, buck teeth, and uncontrollable, fly-away hair . . ."

"You look beautiful to me, Petunia. You're glowing. You have the biggest, deepest, saddest eyes, eyes that I could live in forever, and you've got the longest, palest lashes. No, you can't deny it. It's what I see.

"I understand that others miss it. They have to get close to you. They have to bother to look. One can't see how beautiful your eyes are from across the room. They're a secret you only give to special people. Here, look at yourself in the mirror."

He pivoted her gently to face the mirror again, while he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. "Your hair is fine and light -- not fly-away -- but . . . spun gold when the sunlight catches it. It looks like you've got a halo. And you have a wonderful smile -- that you can see across the room, it flashes bright -- only I've noticed you don't often use it. You hold your smiles and laughter in. Shhh . . . ," Prince gently silenced her objections.

"I recognize the symptoms, and know the disease. That's partly why I love you. We're alike. I don't know what you've been through, but I recognize the pain. Something or someone has stamped on you, has tried to squash you down. But you're resilient. You've grown tall like a tree that's been straining in shade, and has had to grow straight and lean and strong to reach its own patch of sunlight."

Petunia's eyes were shining. In the mirror she saw herself anew as Prince described her. She could feel the sunlight. She had finally emerged from Lily's shadow. She was confident, unashamed, unafraid. She was free at last to love herself, her family and Lily without restraint. And to love Prince.

"Prince, I want you to meet my sister -- you probably know her already!" Petunia grabbed his hand and was excitedly pulling him from the room. "Lily's probably in the common room with James right now, if we hurry we can catch them before dinner!"

Prince stopped suddenly, his hand slipping from hers. "Lily? Lily Evans?"

"Yes, you do know her!" Petunia swivelled, her excited laughter dying as she glimpsed his stricken face.

"Lily? Lily and James? NO! NOT THEM!"

Petunia watched in horror as his tense, ashen features sporadically twisted and then solidified into a snarl of total hate and disgust.

She let out a cry and clapped her hand over her mouth. Running from the room, she stumbled down the corridor and around a bend. She didn't know where she was going and she didn't care. She ran for what could have been hours, sobs competing with the moan of the wind. When the stitch in her side, left her gasping for breath, she tugged open a classroom door, slammed it shut, and shivering in the dark, crawled into a corner to weep.

It wasn't until late the next day that James found her, curled on the cold stone floor, burning with fever. They hadn't missed her last evening, but when her bed wasn't slept in, they went looking for her. By lunch the whole school had joined the search.

James carried her down to the hospital wing. She spent the last days of Christmas break sick and despondent, with only Lily for company.

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Next up: the attack on Hogwarts. Please review. 


	18. In Essence Divided

A/N: I do not feel confident with battle scenes. Please review and let me know if I did okay or what I should do to improve. Thank you.

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**In Essence Divided**

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_**. . . after a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady stream of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air . . . A serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. . . . "Naturally, naturally, . . . But in essence divided?". . . The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air.**_ –_**OotP p 470**_

"_**You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment," snarled Snape. "He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it too." –OotP pgs 532&533**_

"_**. . . we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. . . . We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. . . . Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory." – Dumbledore, GoF pgs 723 & 724**_

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Harry dropped to the ground as a red flash skimmed over his head. Shouts and streaks were flying from all directions. He laid still trying to get his bearings. He had been right in returning. It seemed Hogsmeade, and maybe even Hogwarts, was under attack. Frantically, he searched for clues as to what was happening as the intensity of the battle increased.

Behind him, shouted spells were being uttered in a lilting tongue and Harry risked a glance toward the castle to make sure his Apparating had not somehow gone amiss. None of Hogwarts' windows glittered welcome, as they usually did, but he could discern its distinctive, towering shape against the star speckled sky.

Dodging, as a curse cruised over his shoulder, Harry determined that the group in front of him was most definitely not where he wanted to go. He had caught a glimpse of a death mask in the flash. Luckily, he had wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around him before Apparating, deciding that Luna no longer needed it to ride the Thestral now that it was night. He didn't want to join the group behind him either, as he had no idea who they were or why they were there. Best just to proceed to the castle and find Ginny.

Cloak, or no cloak, the spells whizzing over his head forced him to crawl slowly on his belly as he circled round. On his right, the accented shouts became more guttural, and from his recent trip east, familiar. Still he thought it unwise to approach them even though his scraped knees and elbows cried for deliverance. As he skirted closer to Hogwarts he was relieved when he heard the accent of home. Harry thought he could have summoned a Patronus with the way he felt when he heard a familiar voice yelling orders. To think that he had ever considered it bossy or shrill. Crouching low, he barreled toward it. Diving behind a picket fence, he breathlessly called, "Hermione, it's me!" Hermione spun around, her wand at ready.

Harry tugged his cloak off, noticing, with regret, that it now had a number of tears in it from squirming over the ground, and stuffed it in his pocket. Hermione lit her wand and peered closely at him . "Harry, is that really you?"

"Were you expecting someone else? Of course, it's me!"

"Well it's hard to be sure. There are a lot of you running around tonight. Where have you been?"

"What are you talking about? What's happening? I went to the Riddle mansion. Where's Ron? Is Ginny safe?" Harry shouted above the racket.

"Thank goodness, it is you!" She momentarily flung her arms around his neck. "We've been worried sick." She quickly released him and popped up to shoot another flash into the dark, before ducking back down beside him. "I think everyone is okay. At least, everything is still going as planned. No one's sent up a distress flash and there's no Dark Mark yet."

Harry looked around bewildered, "Someone planned this?"

"Well, yes. Ginny did. She's been putting the plan in place for almost a year. Ever since summer school. Good plan too. We've managed to divide the Death Eaters. We've got a group here, surrounded and trapped in the town square. Aberforth and most of the townsfolk have the left flank. Viktor and a group from Durmstrangs are on the right. There's a group from Beauxbatons to their rear and I've got about two dozen students here, so be careful you don't overshoot," she explained as she hurled another volley of hexes. Harry joined in the fight as he listened.

"Ron and the professors have most of the students inside Hogwarts. The professors, except McGonagall, Slughorn and Firenze, are protecting the first and second years and anyone else who didn't volunteer. They're in the Great Hall. Since many of the Death Eaters have relatives in Slytherin, Slughorn has his house sequestered in their common room to keep them from having to choose sides. McGonagall, with a majority of the older students, is supposed to be leading the Death Eaters through the castle like rats in a maze. Ron, and his group, using the map, plan to guerilla attack whenever possible, disengage, and disappear into another hidden passage."

To their right someone screamed in obvious pain. Harry and Hermione sent an increased barrage of hexes over the fence. In the next lull, Harry asked, "What about Ginny?"

"She has a hand-picked group -- she restarted and expanded _Dumbledore's Army _and has been training them all year -- and has lured the remaining Death Eaters into the forest. Hagrid and Madam Maxime are making sure they don't regroup. Ginny plans to lose them in there, and leave them to the mercy of the forest. She's learned a back way out from Hagrid, a short-cut they used to visit Grawp. She says, if necessary, she has a surprise for them that will knock their robes off." Harry glanced toward the forest. He could hear piercing screeches, and loud barks and growls coming from that direction along with screams and shouts.

"What's all the noise?'

"Don't know."

"Did you tell Ginny that the centaurs won't be inclined to help?"

"Well, I started to, but apparently she's made friends with some of the younger ones, and some merkids too. She convinced them that it is in their best interest to join forces to destroy Voldemort."

"Wow! But why didn't she tell me? And why now! She should have waited!"

"She intended to. She went looking for you as soon as she was free from helping Hagrid. Says you were quite upset when you left her." Hermione gave him a quick, exasperated look before firing off another round. "She wanted to tell you about the plan. She wanted your input and knew you needed something to focus on.

"The plan was supposed to be a trap. She hoped it would provide an opportunity for you to get to Nagini. She intended on waiting until school was out, using only students in the D.A who volunteered and remained behind specifically to help. Also, she hoped to get help from the Order.

"The way she saw it, even if we couldn't kill Voldemort yet, it would set him back to suffer a defeat. But when she couldn't find you, she feared that you had gone off to the Riddle mansion. She saw you stop to talk to Luna and Susan on the way back up to the castle, so she went looking for them to see if they knew anything. She couldn't find them either, but Hannah said Susan told her she was going with Harry to avenge her father's death.

"Ginny was taking a short-cut on her way to find us, hoping we could all go after you, when she happened to overhear McGonagall telling Flitwick that Voldemort had attacked and secured both St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic. McGonagall was very distraught. Apparently many Order members were trapped in the bowels of the Ministry from which they couldn't Apparate and were therefore forced to fight to the death.

"Ginny easily convinced us that the best way to help both the Order and you, that is, if Voldemort hadn't already killed you, was to distract and divide his forces. She rightly felt that Voldemort could not resist conquering Hogwarts, especially if he didn't have you and thought he could get rid of you at the same time. She explained everything to us and we agreed. Ginny set the trap, then we went to Professor McGonagall to explain what we needed. She was furious! Surprisingly, Dumbledore's portrait approved of our plan and helped us argue our case. She finally agreed, though, in truth, we hadn't left her much choice."

"How did Ginny set the trap?" Harry dodged a curse and returned a hex.

"Well, Hagrid had let slip, when showing her the short cut and the spell for getting through Hogwarts' defenses, that he hadn't bothered to teach it to Grawp, because if Grawp wanted, he could break in anywhere. Hagrid explained that many of Dumbledore's spells had expired and that McGonagall's spells weren't quite as strong, or specific against giants, since McGonagall did not have as much knowledge of giants, nor a reason to suspect that spells to stop them were particularly necessary. And, she had removed all of the spells that Snape had put in place, either because she did not trust them or because she was just too angry with Snape to leave them.

"Also, Hagrid was anxious, on more than a few of those trips, to stop in at the Hog's Head for a drink on the way back. Ginny learned from him that Aberforth, the owner of Hog's Head, is Dumbledore's brother and had been his confidante. Well, she made a point of getting to know him. She says he's a lot like Dumbledore, if you can imagine a cross between Dumbledore and Mundungus.

"Anyway, she found out he was as keen as anyone to see the end of Voldemort and to keep you safe. She even suspects that Dumbledore might have told him why. She explained she was your girlfriend and was worried about you, and convinced him to help her if she ever thought you were in serious danger. She told him snippets of her plan and pre-arranged for him to let it slip to the appropriate clientele, that a giant could break through Hogwarts' defenses; that Grawp, a giant, lived in a cave just up the mountain; and that Grawp would do anything if he thought Hagrid was in trouble.

"Then all she had to do was send Aberforth the message and it worked like a charm. We had just got everyone in place when Grawp came crashing through. Naturally, he was followed by Death Eaters. That's when we attacked from behind and Ginny attacked one flank, pulling back into the forest, while McGonagall attacked the other, retreating into the castle. They divided just as planned."

"How did the Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons get here?"

"I've been in touch with Viktor regularly, Hagrid with Madam Maxime, with additional connections through Ginny to Fleur, and Fleur to her friends. It's been obvious for some time that Voldemort was gaining strength and planning something big. As luck would have it, both schools ended their term last week. After you left Viktor, he got a group of his friends together, and itching to do something, they decided to take a holiday in England as soon as school was out, so as to be close by if anything happened.

"Apparently, a group of Fleur's friends had a similar idea and talked Madam Maxime into chaperoning a visit to London. When news broke about the attack on the Ministry, they all headed for Hogsmeade to check on their friends here. We were surprised, but glad to see them, and eagerly accepted their offers of help."

The battle seemed to be waning. Harry glanced toward the forest. He could see the glow of fire lapping the top of the outermost trees and getting stronger. "They're trying to smoke them out. I'm going to find Ginny. I have to warn her that Voldemort's after her. She's got my mum and dad's rings. He thinks they are horcruxes and he suspects she's my girlfriend and may have them. I think that's why he attacked the Burrow."

Hermione turned to him with a mixture of alarm and surprise in her eyes. "He thinks your parents' rings are horcruxes? How do you know?"

"Something Snape said."

"Snape?!"

"Yeah. He was waiting for me at the Riddle mansion. Said he wanted to warn me to move my family to safety. Said a bunch of other stuff that I haven't had time to process yet. Some of what he said leads me to think that Voldemort's searching for the rings my parents were wearing when he killed them and tried to kill me. Dumbledore once told me that he thought Voldemort was planning on making his last horcrux with my death.

"My aunt has the engagement ring. Ginny's holding the wedding bands for me. I came straight here to make sure she was okay and to warn her. Luna and Susan went to take the Dursleys to Mrs. Figg's. I told them I'd meet them there later, but I didn't expect to land in the middle of a battle."

"Harry, why didn't you tell me sooner? If Snape's right, they could be in grave danger! I'll find Ginny for you, then I'll take a group to your aunt's house and make sure everything is okay. You need to go immediately to Grimmauld Place where you'll be safe."

"No, I'm not leaving you all here to fight without me! Besides, whatever happened at my aunt's house is probably long over by now. They've had plenty of time to get there and out. I need to find Ginny. And, if by chance Nagini is here, she's right. This might be my only opportunity. Have you seen the snake or Voldemort?" Harry jumped up to get a better look at Hogwarts and the forest.

Hermione pulled him back down just in time. "Stay down. I haven't seen them, but I think when Grawp broke through a number of the other defenses also collapsed. It may be possible to Apparate directly in and out of Hogwarts now. Give me a second and we'll all go with you to find Ginny. HANNAH!" Someone raised their head to Hermione's right and Harry jumped at the sight of his double.

"Get used to it. I said there were a lot of you around."

"What? How?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Hannah, tell Aberforth that the real Harry is here and we're moving out. Tell him we're going to see if the forest contingent needs help. Ask if he can spread out his wing to cover this side. Have Colin go the other way and ask Viktor to do the same. Hurry. We'll wait till you get back. Tell any of our group you see to pass the word that we're pulling back on my signal."

Hermione turned back to Harry. "I guess I didn't tell you about that part of the plot yet. Ginny's been real busy. She brewed up a big batch of _Polyjuice_ _Potion_. When this all started she asked for volunteers to pose as you. She figured it would confound the Death Eaters. More than two dozen students stepped up."

"But they'll be targeted!"

"They know the danger. Anyway she also brewed up a big batch of _Felix Felicis_. Apparently, she has some influence over Professor Slughorn -- Snape's book served her as well as it did you," Hermione said, frowning slightly. "She got him to help her when she had trouble getting it right. The volunteers got first dibs. Then she passed out the rest as far as it would go."

Moments later, Hannah, and then Colin, both looking like Harry, came panting up behind them. "They said, go ahead. They have it covered."

Hermione raised her wand and sent a silver and then two blue flashes straight up.

Once back inside the gate, they could see what was causing much of the commotion. Silhouetted against the blaze was a huge writhing snake. Buckbeak was attacking its flat, swinging head, while Fluffy and Fang were nipping at its long, twisting tail.

Over by the lake, Hagrid was whipping his motorcycle in circles around a group of Death Eaters, while Madam Maxime took pot shots at them from the pillion seat. Grawp was hauling lake water in a dragon trough and pouring it on the burning trees then ripping out a row of them to create a fire break.

Harry edged toward Nagini wondering if he would be able to feel in an animal, as he had in an object, the presence of Voldemort. After a particularly prolonged series of swooping attacks by Buckbeak, his claws ripping through snakeskin, Nagini suddenly reared into the air, then fell with a thud that shook the ground. Harry, throwing caution to the wind, darted forward. He grabbed Nagini in a hug as long shudders traveled down the length of the great beast. He could feel something, a contamination perhaps, but he felt little more than a mild prickle in his scar. "Who are you? Are you part Voldemort? Is Voldemort inside you?" Harry hissed.

"No, Massster. Though like one we often are. I am only, assss alwaysss, your humble sssssservant, Nagini." It sounded like air leaking from a balloon.

"Explain." hissed Harry.

"Massster, you were in my father at concccception, my mother during gesssstation and birth. You raissssed me. How could I feel otherwisssse? And now you are here with me as I die. But, it iss only I who die. We are in essssenccccce divided." Another shudder traveled the length of the form.

"Why do you talk to me as if I were Voldemort?" Harry asked.

"You are . . ." The last of the air escaped and Nagini was still. Harry released the great beast, to press his palm against his scar which was erupting in pain. Fluffy was gnawing on Nagini's tail, ripping huge chunks of flesh off. Harry, his eyes bleary from swelling, intense hatred, pushed him away.

The leaves rustled behind him. Harry, regaining control, groaned, "he wasn't one," as he turned expecting Hermione. Instead he saw Snape emerging at the edge of the forest. The hatred rose again, but this time Harry owned it. They stood for a moment glaring at each other over their raised wands, acute loathing twisting their features.

Snape snarled, "You did not do as I asked! You have sentenced them to the Dark Lord's mercy! Their murders are on your head!

Fury and anger peaked in Harry. _Was it true? _Rage exploded from his wand as he sent blast after blast toward Snape. Snape regaining his composure, deflected the hexes, his face livid, his stance hateful.

"Stop this child's play. Go fool! He is coming!" There was urgency in Snape's growl. "GO! Before he gets here and all is lost! You are lazy, Potter! Don't let what happened earlier give you false hope! You still have not learned to close your mind. The Dark Lord will learn what you know. You are not ready. It is not time. Do not let your own selfish arrogance destroy what Dumbledore died for!"

"Don't talk about Dumbledore like you care. Fight back, coward!"

"Don't call me coward! You never were inclined to listen to me." Snape's snarl deepened. "Go now! Before it's too late!" Someone, looking just like Harry, ran up beside Harry brandishing his wand. Snape ignored him, other than to block his spells along with Harry's. "Go somewhere safe before the Dark Lord sees you. Both of you. Don't worry about your friends. Dumbledore . . ." Snape broke off as Death Eaters crashed through the brush behind him.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Both wands flew into the air and into Snape's hand. He pocketed them as Death Eaters circled, then split their ranks to let Voldemort stride into the center.

Harry's scar burned white hot. Voldemort shot a volley at Fluffy, who was again gnawing at Nagini's tail, that sent him yelping off into the woods. He then walked over to the snake and laid his hand on the smooth scales of the great beast's side. "I am sorry, my old friend, but do not worry. I will avenge your death. They will pay dearly for killing you, I swear." He then turned to where the two Harrys stood.

"I see you found him for me Severus. Good. Is he the right one? Or will I have to kill them all one by one to be sure?" Voldemort asked with cold vehemence. "Ah, not necessary, I feel he is one of these two. And disarmed. Again not necessary. I do not want anyone to think I could not kill the Boy-Who-Lived in a fair fight."

He turned to the Death Eaters around him. "Go. Hurry! I tire of this game. I want this fight finished. Call the Dementors. Tell them to take all who do not surrender, except the Weasley brats and the clever mudblood. I have special plans for the special friends of Potter before the Dementors can have them.

"Burn the woods down, empty the lake, but do not demolish the castle. I think I might enjoy playing at Headmaster. I will be with you momentarily. I only need to attend to something of _little_ importance first." He nodded at the two Harrys, sneering. Harry noticed that Snape flicked his wand low at his side as he melted back into the forest with the other Death Eaters.

"I will give you a fighting chance, for your dear mum's sake and as a favor to my old nemesis, Dumbledore." Voldemort glanced around and spotted a wand on the ground that Harry could have sworn was not there a moment before. With a twist of his wrist Voldemort sent it flying through the air. Both Harrys grabbed for the wand. At the same moment the green flash of a killing curse left Voldemort's wand.

Instantly, Harry felt the familiar dizzying pull at his navel.

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I won't be able to post again for at least a week, but since there are only 3 chapters left, I should have it all to you before the end of the month. Please review. Next up: the last two horcruxes. 


	19. The Scar Connection

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A/N: I'm back and I hope you are ready for the climax of my story. Enjoy and please review.

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**The Scar Connection**

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"_**She'd give anything to have you as a grandson. . . ." . . . Neville's childhood had been blighted by Voldemort just as much as Harry's had, but Neville had no idea how close he had come to having Harry's destiny. –HBP p 139**_

"_**Pettigrew owes his life to you. You have sent Voldemort a deputy who is in your debt . . ."– Dumbledore, PoA p 536**_

"_**And if I meet Severus Snape along the way . . . so much the better for me, so much the worse for him."– Harry, HBP **__**p 651**_

"_**You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble?"– Dumbledore, PoA p 537**_

"_**Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" – Harry, CoS p 333**_

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The wand was a Portkey. Moments later they found themselves in a dark, rectangular amphitheater. Harry yanked the wand from his twin's hand and raised it. It turned into a pair of tattered underwear. Obviously, one of Fred and George's fake wands.

"I've been here before. We're in the Department of Mysteries. Why do you think Vol . . .You-Know-Who sent us here?"

Harry studied the figure beside him. "Neville?"

"Yeah. You the real Harry?"

"Yeah. I don't think it was Voldemort who sent us. If it was, I think he'd be here too."

"What should we do?"

"I suppose we could try to help the Order of the Phoenix. They're trapped fighting Death Eaters somewhere down here."

"Gran's told me my mum and dad were members. How we going to help them without our wands?"

"There's loads of weird stuff here. I bet there's something we could use." Harry, his eyes growing accustomed to the dimness, glanced toward the bottom of the amphitheater. Emotion drowned him as the stone archway Sirius had disappeared through, almost exactly two years before, swam into view.

Neville pulled him back to the surface. "Harry, there are people over there!"

Along the far wall, several bodies were laid out on the floor. Harry and Neville walked around the edge of the room toward them. When they drew close, Neville ran forward calling out, "Luna? Susan? Harry, it's Luna and Susan!"

"Those ones are my aunt, uncle and cousin! Are they dead? Snape said they were all dead!"

"No! They seem to be drugged." Neville said, shaking Luna, then Susan to no effect. "Do you have any idea how to wake them?"

"If I had my wand," Harry said gazing around. "What's this?" He picked up a flask from a nearby bench and unstoppered it. Harry took a whiff, wrinkling up his nose at the odor. "It smells kind of familiar," he said, holding it out toward Neville.

Neville took it and sniffed. "Hey, we made this in Snape's potion class. At least, Hermione did. Mine was a stinky grey blob that bubbled over. It's supposed to be yellow." He put his thumb over the mouth of the bottle and turned it upside down. "See," he said, showing his thumb to Harry.

"But what's it for?" Harry asked looking at the toxic yellow circle on Neville's thumb.

"It's called _Ezodon Tonic,_ and it is the antidote to a sleeping potion Snape had us concoct last year. Remember?"

"No. How come you do? You sound like Hermione."

"Humiliation can burn the strangest things into your memory," Neville answered matter-of-factly.

Lifting up Luna's head, Neville poured a swig into her mouth. She coughed, then sputtered, "Eww, that's awful, Harry."

"I'm Neville. That's Harry. Are you okay?" Neville asked, handing the flask to Harry. Propping Susan against the wall next to Luna, Harry poured some tonic down her throat. After a moment's hesitation, he moved over beside his aunt.

"No, I don't think so. I'm seeing things. You two look exactly alike to me," Luna managed between coughs.

"That's because I took _Polyjuice Potion_. Can you tell us what happened?"

"It's my fault," Susan whispered, her voice hoarse. "We got to Harry's aunt's house before the Death Eaters and were getting away. But I heard them arrive and went back. I wanted . . . My dad . . ." she broke off sobbing.

Harry thought he understood and knelt beside her, resting his hand on her arm. "It's _all_ Voldemort's fault."

"Susan surprised them. She hexed two before I even arrived and then got another one while I disabled a forth. But then a Death Eater cornered me and I thought I'd be seeing my mum again sooner than I had expected. That's when your cousin came barreling in and hit him with his fist. See I told you he was nice. Well, maybe nice isn't the right word. I mean hitting someone isn't very nice but . . ."

"Luna! What happened next?" Harry interrupted.

"Dudley saved us! Knocked two of them out cold before they knew what was happening. The third one Disapparated after getting a hex off at him. That's when your aunt and uncle came running back in. After that I don't remember anything," Luna said, wobbling as she tried to sit up.

"It was Severus."

Harry turned to look at his aunt who was hovering between Dudley and Vernon, lightly shaking one, then the other.

"I didn't recognize him at first. It was dark and his face was hidden by a hood. Only later when he spoke. He wasn't there during the fight. He had just appeared and the first thing he did was to stun Luna and Susan, then Vernon, who hit his head when he fell. He was just turning to me when Voldemort arrived with some more Death Eaters. He wanted your mum's rings. Why?" Her voice was rising to the edge of hysterics."Then he gave the order to kill us, but Severus told him we could be useful."Aunt Petunia's screechy voice quivered on the edge. "When they left, Severus brought us here as commanded." Her voice toppled over. "They're not waking up!"

"They need to drink this," Harry said, passing her the flask.

"Oh . . . yes, Severus mentioned . . . So he sent you? He insisted he would try to save us."

"I don't think he sent us or is trying to save you," Harry said, though somewhere in the back of his brain something irked him. "He took our wands."

Petunia, fumbling with the cork, glanced up. "Why would he take your wands?"

"Why do you think? He works for Voldemort!" As Harry watched, his aunt's eyes darkened. "Without our wands we are defenseless, unless we can find something around here that will work." Luna made a motion as if to rise, but flopped back against the wall, exhausted. Harry voice softened as he tried to sound reassuring. "Don't try to move yet. Neville and I will look around and see what we can find."

Aunt Petunia whimpered and stared intently at Harry for a moment. Then she stoppered the flask she had been about to pour down Vernon's throat. "I think I'll let him sleep until we're ready to leave. Severus told me someone named Wormtail is in the hall guarding the main entrance, so be careful."

Neville and Harry stepped out into the black circular room with black doors. The door behind them closed, sending the room into an immediate spin.

"We shouldn't have done that," Harry said, looking around puzzled. "We've only opened a few of the rooms. I wonder what is in the others? It will take too long to search them all."

"Wormtail is behind one of these doors, so we don't want that one." Neville twisted around. "Which one should we try?"

"I once asked for the exit and the room spun so that I was facing the correct door. Maybe we should ask for what we want."

Neville positioned himself beside Harry. "What you think? Something like, Which room has what will help us all get out of here alive and win the fight against . . . Vol-Voldemort?"

The room spun. When it stopped, they were facing a door dead on. Harry grasped the knob and turned it. "It's locked," he said disappointed.

"So, that doesn't mean it's not the right door. I never expected it to be even this easy, did you?"

"Right, Neville," Harry said, grinning. "In fact, when I think about it, I believe this could be the very room Dumbledore told me about. It is a room that's always locked. He said it contains a force more wonderful and terrible than death, human intelligence and forces of nature."

"You sure we want that _door_?" Neville asked nervously.

Harry shrugged. "We need something very powerful to defeat Voldemort. Why go halfway?"

"Okay. So, how do we get in?" Neville jiggled the knob and peered closely at the lock.

"I don't know. Dumbledore would know. I wish Hermione was here. She's always good at figuring out things like this."

"Did the professor say anything else about what's inside?"

"He said it was a force I possessed in abundance and that Voldemort has none of. He said it was why I went to try to save Sirius and why Voldemort couldn't bear to possess me. He said it was my heart that saved me."

Neville nodded. "Sounds like the room we need and that you will know how to use whatever is in there. So, . . . how do we get in?"

"Old magic!" Harry answered excitedly, suddenly sure.

"What?"

"Listen, Dumbledore was always talking about love and things like that. Said they were powerful old magic. He said it was my mum's love and sacrifice that saved me from Voldemort when I was a baby. When I wanted the sorcerer's stone, he said it appeared in my pocket because I wanted it for unselfish reasons. And again, my mum's love saved me when Quirrell couldn't touch me. Fighting the basilisk in my second year, Fawkes appeared with the Sorting Hat and Gryffindor's sword because I showed great loyalty to Dumbledore. When I needed to produce a Patronus to save us from the dementors, Dumbledore said I could do it because my father loved me and lived on through me.

"I would have been a goner for sure when Voldemort regained his body, if my wand had not forced Voldemort's wand to regurgitate the shades of Cedric, my parents and others who helped me. Then when Voldemort went to possess me--when we were last here--I remember it was my thinking of being with Sirius that forced him out. And . . . and, last year Dumbledore sacrificed himself to protect me and Malfoy. All examples of old magic. Remember I once told you and the rest of the D.A. that everything I had managed to do was due to luck and the help of friends?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I was only half right. It's like . . . well . . . take you for instance. You don't even know _why_ you risked your life to drink from that cup, but you did it anyway. Proves my point. Most of the credit goes to my friends. My biggest mistakes have always been when I failed to ask for help. But I was wrong about the luck. It was never luck. Something much bigger has always been at work."

"So how's that going to help us open this door?" Neville had taken to picking at the lock with his quill.

"We asked for the right door and got it. Maybe all we need to do is ask for entrance for the right reasons." Neville straightened up, turned and studied Harry for a moment. Then he moved to one side. Harry took hold of the knob with both hands. "We are loyal supporters of Dumbledore . . ."

Across the circular room, a door burst open and Voldemort, Snape and Wormtail charged in. Harry swivelled around, one hand still grasping the knob. A look of surprise creased Voldemort's face, quickly replaced with the hunger of a snake about to strike at its prey. Wormtail's expression was one of pure terror and Harry figured he feared that Voldemort would blame him for letting them get in somehow. Snape's countenance was harder to fathom. It flashed quickly from surprise to rage to disappointment to something akin to grief or sadness perhaps, then settled into a look of resignation. When he realized Harry was looking at him, his eyes flashed angry again, and burned through him with their smouldering. Harry did not have time to decipher the meaning of any of this, because Voldemort was fast advancing toward him.

"Dumbledore? Did I hear you say Dumbledore? Don't you remember, he can't help you anymore? He's dead. Severus here killed him for me. Voldemort swung his head like a cobra, looking from one Harry to the other. "And from what I heard, he died a feeble, old man begging for his life."

Snape gave him an odd, warning look, but Harry ignored it. "That's not true!" he shouted. Voldemort paused, his eyes narrowing in on Harry now, his lips curling into a grotesque smile.

"Dumbledore will never be gone as long as there are those who remain true to him and fight against you!" Neville yelled.

Voldemort's gaze swung to study Neville's face. "Fight?" he laughed. "How do you plan to fight? You have no wands. You are defenseless, helpless, and unless I am mistaken the door behind you is locked – the famous locked room – and offers you neither protection, defense nor a means of escape." He reached out a hand, and stroked the air in front of them as if he was stroking a lover's face. Both Neville and Harry withdrew from his fingertips, plastering themselves against the door. "Which one?" he muttered. Louder, he said, "So you see, it would be wiser to beg for my mercy, than to ask the dead for help."

"Still, we ask for help . . . ," Harry said.

". . . in the name of love, loyalty . . . ," Neville added.

" . . . compassion, friendship and all that is true and good," Harry finished as Voldemort's now bemused eyes swayed from face to face.

_Please open._ Harry concentrated as he had never done before. He heard a soft click behind him, and shuffled his foot till it bumped Neville's. Turning the knob, he pushed hard. Harry saw the sudden look of surprise and fear on Voldemort's face as he and Neville toppled backwards through the opening. The room reverberated as the three men barged in after them, screaming.

Harry did not know what he had expected, but certainly not this. The room was empty. Voldemort looked around and broke into a sick, high-pitched, raucous laugh that echoed through the chamber.

"Empty! I always told Dumbledore that there was no evidence to support his famous pronouncements that love is a more powerful magic than my kind of magic. Nothing!" He laughed as he strode around the room. "It's all a sham. The joke's on him. . . . Seize them!"

Harry was too stunned to put up a fight. Neville was also too stunned or else realized the futility in resisting. Either way when Voldemort snarled, "Follow me," and led the way out of the room, Snape motioned for Wormtail to go ahead, and Harry and Neville fell in behind him with Snape bringing up the rear. Harry glared back at him just in time to notice that as he passed through the door, he swung it wide and waved his wand ever so slightly.

They crossed the dark circular room following Voldemort into the Death Chamber. Again Snape left the door open, flicking his wand just barely as he crossed the threshold. This was the third time that night Harry had noticed Snape's twitching and he briefly wondered if Snape had developed a new nervous habit, but was instantly distracted from the thought by three loud gasps as they entered the room.

"I see you found your family and friends. Thank Severus for your chance to say goodbye to them. I would have disposed of them, but he wisely suggested they might be of use in convincing you to tell me what I want to know. Severus." Snape strode over and stood above them. He motioned to Petunia to give Vernon the tonic.

"What do you plan to do with them?" Neville asked the question Harry was thinking.

"That depends on you, . . . or you," Voldemort said, again swaying cobra-like between the two of them. "Severus, give them good seats for the show."

Snape motioned and muttered something to them. One by one they stirred, except for Dudley. Aunt Petunia scooted closer to him. Uncle Vernon blinking rapidly, uttered, "What the . . ." but a glance at Petunia's face and Dudley's still form silenced him. Assessing the situation, he painfully crawled forward to position his bulk so that it shielded Petunia and Dudley. He then motioned for the two girls to also get behind him. Susan, still propped against the wall, didn't move. Luna shakily rose to her feet and quizzically looked at the two Harrys. She either smiled or grimaced, made a motion as if waving, then sank back down beside Susan.

Snape muttered at them again and waved his wand some more. He then offered a hand to Petunia to help her up. Ignoring it, she wrapped her arm around Vernon, and Vernon, using a stone bench, hoisted her and himself unsteadily to their feet. Luna and Susan leaned into each other for mutual support.

Dudley rose at a flick from Snape's wand and floated down the steps of the amphitheater. In a staggered line on the verge of collapse, the others followed. Snape positioned Dudley in a stiff sitting position in the third row, his head lolling from front to back. Vernon and Petunia sat protectively on either side. Luna took a seat beside Petunia, with Susan on the outside. Snape returned to his place behind Harry.

Voldemort had descended to the floor of the amphitheater and then up onto the dais. "Bring them," he hissed.

Snape poked Harry in the back. Wormtail did the same to Neville forcing them down the stone steps. Voldemort held his hand up for them to stop a few steps from the bottom.

From the dais, Voldemort glared across and slightly down on them. "So which of you is the real Harry Potter? Speak up! I will spare your family and friends and the life of the double if one of you confesses now." He turned to Neville, "Only a coward would let his friends die for him when it is unnecessary." He swung to face Harry, "Why sacrifice yourself for someone who cares so little for you that he won't own up to being himself? Why die when you don't have to?"

Harry remembered Cedric and how Voldemort had shouted to 'kill the spare.' Voldemort would not keep his word, but did Neville know that?

"No?" Voldemort hissed when neither answered. "Then, perhaps this will loosen one of your tongues. _Mobilicorpus!" _Dudley rose into the air. Petunia, Vernon, Susan and Luna all grabbed at an appendage and hung on. Voldemort violently swung his wand up and Dudley broke free from their weak grasps in a sudden jerk that skewed him toward the veil.

Petunia whimpered, "Please, please Harry, do something."

Wrapping her arm around Petunia's shoulder, Luna explained, "He can't. He doesn't have a wand."

"Prince!" Petunia screamed, twisting free of Luna. The word echoed around the chamber. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed an almost imperceptible tightening of Snape's fingers on his wand. What did his aunt's outburst mean? Desperate, she screamed again, "Harry, Harry please, I know you can do something if you want to! You didn't have a wand at the zoo or with Aunt Marge!"

That's right, Harry thought. He focused his attention, remembering the feelings from that horrible day, and Dudley suddenly started blowing up like Aunt Marge had. By the time Dudley reached the veil he was too big to fit through the archway. Harry almost giggled, thinking that Dudley's roundness had finally benefitted him.

Voldemort diverted his attention away from Dudley as he floated up to bounce lightly against the high stone ceiling. "Clever. However, the simple things you can do without a wand will not keep me from killing you both. Fortunately, I prefer . . . though I must admit it would be amusing to watch two Harry Potters suffer -- twice the fun – still, I prefer to confront my enemy. I have time. I've waited seventeen years already. What are a few minutes more? The _Polyjuice Potion _will wear off soon." A sickening, lipless smile spread across his face. "And shortly, Hogwarts will fall, and your dear friends, and my loyal supporters will be able to join us for the entertainment. Wouldn't you like that?"

As if on cue, a Death Eater burst into the room and vaulted down the stairs to confer with Voldemort. Harry heard the name "Dumbledore" in an excited whisper and then Voldemort's "Impossible!" Voldemort motioned Snape to approach and there were more agitated whispers. Then Voldemort barked, "No! The dementors have been called. They will be there momentarily. Students against my Death Eaters; fools, they cannot win! I want it finished! Kill the impersonator! When all is done, return, and bring Potter's friends with you -- if you get to them before the dementors that is. Tell my Death Eaters that anyone who leaves the battle now will get what Goyle got!"

The Death Eater ran back up the steps, and Snape resumed his place near Harry. After a moment, Voldemort turned toward Harry and Neville again. "Seems the sacking of Hogwarts is taking a little longer than expected. No matter. In the meantime, I will do what Dumbledore thought to deny me. I will teach." He made a downward motion with his hand and Wormtail and Snape pushed Harry and Neville onto the hard stone benches. "Once before, I attempted to teach you a lesson, Potter, but was interrupted if I remember correctly.

"Don't worry. We'll start this time with a very engaging history lecture. Before you were born, my dear servant here . . ."

Voldemort pointed his wand at Snape who smiled back. Harry noticed that as soon as Voldemort turned away though, his smile vanished and his hooded eyes glanced over to where Harry's aunt was softly sobbing.

". . . informed me of a prophecy, the prophecy you clumsily destroyed two years ago. Do you know what the prophecy said?"

Neither Harry nor Neville answered or looked at him.

"Severus, repeat the prophecy."

Snape cleared his throat, "Master . . ." Voldemort gave him a piercing stare. Snape bowed his head and without further objection spoke in a rote voice, "'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those that thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . .'"

"Vanquish me? It was foolish of me to worry. I couldn't die. Still, there were two babies born that the prophecy could apply to: You, Harry Potter, and the Longbottom child." Harry heard Neville's intake of breath beside him. Voldemort was now pacing across the dais. "I didn't know which one to kill so I made the only rational decision: I would kill both. I confided my plans, at first, to no one. I assumed that even some of my most fervent Death Eaters might object to the slaughter of babies. However, it didn't take me long to convince Wormtail here to turn traitor." Harry heard Wormtail whimper. "I can be very persuasive."

Voldemort intent on his narrative, did not seem to notice that thin wisps of golden mist were drifting into the room through the open door and gathering above them.

"We all know that Wormtail is not very good at secret keeping. It soon became known that I was after the Potters. Therefore, the Longbottoms unwisely thought they were safe.

"Do any of you know what a horcrux is? No, of course you don't." Voldemort did not even bother to look up as he answered his own question. Snape, however, peered quickly at Harry and Harry thought he saw a shadow cross his eyes.

"A horcrux is a portion of soul that is embedded in an object for safekeeping. I had already created and hidden a number of horcruxes. It is why you would have failed to kill me even if you managed, by some stroke of luck, to get the upper hand. It is why I didn't die when the curse backfired. I am invincible." Voldemort paused in his pacing and turned to them. "Unfortunately, you accidentally destroyed one of my horcruxes when you destroyed my diary. But no matter. There are plenty of others that are still safe." Voldemort laughed, and took up his pacing again.

"I prepared myself, using a potion Severus concocted for me to my specifications, to create my last two horcruxes with the deaths, one with yours, one with the Longbottom child."

The whole top of the chamber swirled in a vortex of golden mist. His pacing unbroken, Voldemort continued his tale. "I drank the potion and was ready. Feeling generous, I had decided to reward these two for their valuable contributions." He waved his hand at Snape and Wormtail. "They had both indeed been instrumental. I took Wormtail with me. I had noticed his hungry penchant for witnessing acts of power and cruelty. I thought he might enjoy seeing the effects of his treachery. His ability is, at best, merely sufficient, so I was not expecting any help from him, but I was disappointed when he disappeared while I was fighting your father. I did not know then that he was an animagus and had changed into a rat, and like the coward that he is, had hid during the attack.

"Severus I sent to Dumbledore. Before he left, I gave him one of my treasured acquisitions. I wanted to ensure that he also would witness the slaughter. At the time, though grateful for his information, skill at potions, and advise, I did not consider him trustworthy. He did not fear me like the others. He dared to close his mind to me. I knew though, that he would have to look into the _qui lumen oculus _as I commanded him, especially if he intended to betray me. Once he looked, he would be captured by it, unable to break away until I released him. He would no longer doubt my power and my resolve. He would see what I was capable of, and rightly fear me.

"I sent other Death Eaters to find the Longbottoms so that as soon as I had dealt with the Potters, I could go and kill them also." Voldemort paused, looking at his hands, lost in thought for a moment.

Harry remembered the memory he had broken into at the Riddle house and felt his anger rising again. Harry almost visibly jumped as a voice whispered beside of him. _"I trust_ _Severus. You do not know the whole story. I wish I could have told you, but I could not betray Severus's confidence." _The look on Snape's face told Harry that Snape had heard Dumbledore's voice too. Harry was suddenly aware that the room was full of whisperings. The golden mist whirled round everyone, save Voldemort, like playful zephyrs of air. Harry felt hope rising in him as he had when he had heard Fawkes' song.

Besides Dumbledore's voice, he recognized his mum's and dad's. Other voices introduced themselves as his grandparents, relatives, and friends of his parents who were now dead. Time and space seemed irrelevant to the disembodied voices. As they whispered encouragement to him and wrapped their comfort around him, he heard the same voices whispering to others as well.

Dumbledore was spending an inordinate amount of time with Snape, whispering so quietly that Harry could only catch the occasional word even though he was only a few feet away. His mum and dad were talking to Wormtail, and he could also hear his mum's and his grandparents' voices coming from where Aunt Petunia sat with her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth. Harry listened for Sirius. There were so many whispers in the room that it was like listening to the wind. In addition to those he knew were dead, he could feel occasional thoughts from those he dearly hoped were still alive. Strongest were Ginny's, Hermione's and Ron's, but Harry felt as if anyone and everyone who had ever loved him directly or indirectly was there with him -- except for Sirius, whose distinct voice was missing.

Harry glanced at Neville. It was odd looking at himself standing straight with a rapt and confident look on his face. Harry could hear muted voices talking to Neville and wondered who they were. Wormtail, behind him, was cowering as if trying to hide from the voices around him. Harry heard his mum say, _"Peter, I thought you were there to help us. I saw you in the crib with Harry, among the covers. You were a part of our family. You were little Harry's honorary uncle. He had a special name for you. Remember? Come back to us. We forgive you." _

_"Wormtail, I share the blame," _Harry's dad added_. "I knew you were weak. I knew you hungered after power. You looked up to me. I could have influenced you. I could have helped you learn to be a better wizard. Instead, I used your adulation and greed to feed my own ego and your ineptitude for my own amusement."_

_"But you changed that night. Don't you feel it?" _Harry's mum's voice coaxed.

_"How did you kill thirteen people by yourself? Your wand work was always atrocious. You bluffed your way through most classes and exams only with our help. And traveling to Albania on your own . . ." _

Harry missed the rest of what his dad was saying because Voldemort, oblivious to the murmurings in the room, had started speaking again, softly, as if to himself. "Your father put up a good fight, but not good enough. I offered to let your mother live as Severus had requested. I intended to have him kill her later as a final test of fidelity.

"But then it all went wrong. Your mother would not save herself. She begged me to kill her instead. She was willing to die for you. She was unafraid of death. I was incensed by her desperate pleadings. They only heightened my . . . I admit I acted rashly. I thought the spell to send a portion of my soul to my selected horcrux, her engagement ring, and aimed the death curse at you. But in my agitated emotional state I lost control. I felt both prepared portions of my soul leave together. And then the curse rebounded and I remember only agony."

Harry heard Dumbledore murmur, "_Ahh, yes, yes, I never guessed. That would explain a lot . . ."_ At the same time his mum was whispering, "_Peter, this isn't like you." _And his dad was saying, "_He will kill you anyway."_

The woman's voice talking to Neville was saying, "_Snape warned Dumbledore, and Dumbledore sent messages to the Potters and to us. It was too late for them. We barely had time to hide you before they arrived. Such dangerous, powerful magic so close to a child so young. It marked you. I'm sorry, it's made your life hard, gave you your learning disability. But you've surmounted it. We're very proud of you." _

Voldemort looked up. He took no notice of the whispering mist or even of Wormtail's cowering demeanor. He looked at the Harrys before him. "I held the engagement ring. Your aunt was kind enough to give it to me," Voldemort laughed as he glanced over at her. "It is not a horcrux. Therefore, they must be the wedding bands that I believe the Weasley girl currently holds for you. I will recover them shortly. It is time to finish what I started seventeen years ago. Severus has made me another potion and I have drunk it. I will kill the impostor and make a horcrux to replace the diary. But first I will deal with the Boy-Who-Lived."

Snape sequaciously asked. "Master, is it wise for you to kill him? Why not let me do it for you. It would be my pleasure."

"Severus, your advise, as always, is well considered. It has been my desire for a long time to kill him personally, but it is always unwise to let emotions decide one's path. As I just mentioned in my tale, emotions never serve one well. To be blinded by revenge, hate or ego is as bad as Dumbledore being blinded by love and his desire to believe the best about others."

Beside him, Harry heard Dumbledore mutter, "_We'll see, won't we?" _

"I will not use the killing curse. There are other ways to take a life." Voldemort snapped his fingers and the veil behind him fluttered as a cold draft suddenly filled the room. A dementor materialized beside Voldemort. The mist swirled closer and faster. The momentary coldness and despair that had enveloped Harry were held at bay by the warmth and hope created by the golden, whirling haze.

"I will let you choose. You can join your Godfather or receive the kiss of a dementor. Now which one of you is the child born at the end of July to parents who thrice defied me. Don't bother lying. I can always tell."

Harry was opening his mouth to speak when Neville rose beside him and said, "I am." Harry turned, ready to object when he felt Snape grip his shoulder, keeping him seated. Dumbledore whispered beside him, "_Do not discount the help of friends. They have proved worthy of your trust and have a right to their own destinies." _

Voldemort looked at Neville. "You speak the truth. No more subterfuge then. You face death like your father and mother. Foolishly, but proudly. I must say, I will miss your spunk. . . . Save yourself. Join me. You can be my second in command. There is no one else worthy." Voldemort eyes alighted on Snape with a cruel smile, then drifted away. "Together we will rule the world."

"I choose the veil," Neville stated with the same force of conviction that was cursing through Harry, and caused Harry to briefly wonder if somehow he had embodied him. But no, he could see traces of Neville starting to surface. Already the eyes were changing.

Voldemort's lips stretched into a thin line. "Wormtail, bring him to me."

Whimpering, Wormtail pushed Neville forward. At the same time Snape let go of Harry's shoulder, and descended a few steps closer to Voldemort, his wand still aimed at Harry.

"It was just a thought. I actually prefer to rule alone." Voldemort smiled as Wormtail and Neville joined him on the dais. They were standing now less than ten feet apart. Snape descended the last step and moved closer so that he stood at the base of the dais. "I have conquered death so if I change my mind, I have plenty of time to find someone else worthy. Shame though, as I have not seen so much undirected, wasted talent since Dumbledore." He laughed, an evil, high-pitched cackle.

The word "talent" sparked something in Harry's memory. Something connected to Wormtail. He suddenly recalled Sirius describing Wormtail as a "weak, talentless thing," and Voldemort saying that he had displayed "a presence of mind I would never have expected from him."

Everything he knew about Wormtail, everything he had experienced, seen or heard told him that Wormtail was a wizard of little skill and a coward. His dad's earlier question of Wormtail came to him now: How had he managed to kill thirteen people and escape Sirius on his own? Harry remembered the dream when Voldemort did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail and his scar had hurt so badly it had awakened him. Suddenly Harry understood.

Voldemort was still speaking, "Tell that old fool, if you see him, that I was merciful and compassionate. Tell him that I decided not to torture you or make you bow and beg, but allowed you to walk through the veil with dignity. Tell the silly old coot that I could afford to be generous because I have won."

Harry snapped onto Voldemort's words. He sprang to his feet. He could not stop himself. "No you haven't!" he yelled. "Four of your horcruxes are destroyed and I know where to find the last two! They are not what you think they are!"

Immediately Harry realized he had made a mistake. He quickly looked down as Voldemort's fiery eyes swung toward him. What if Voldemort killed him now? He had to tell someone what he knew without Voldemort suspecting anything. Snape was the only one near him. When the golden mist first spoke it had repeated what Dumbledore had always declared: That he trusted Snape. Lupin had once stated that he trusted Dumbledore, and that was good enough for him. Harry made his decision. He sidled into the aisle toward Snape, but froze at the fear in Snape's voice.

"Master, he lies! How could he . . ."

Glancing up Harry saw that Voldemort's wand was directed at Snape as were the narrowed slits of his eyes.

"Yes, how could he?" Voldemort growled, his eyes glued on Snape's face. "You were the only one who knew."

"Master, you preformed a _Fidelius Charm _with yourself as the secret-keeper! I could not have told! And I knew only about the two, the ones you had me make the potion for. He lies! Ask him . . . _ask him if_ _HE_ _destroyed them!"_

"I'm asking you what you know and if you have betrayed me. Look me in the eye. Open your mind. Do not think to refuse me once more. I have allowed you some leeway, knowing how prideful you are, but I will not be tolerant any longer."

"Master, have mercy. There is no need. You know I tell the truth!"

"_Crucio!"_

Harry heard his aunt cry out as Snape doubled over and crashed to the floor his wand clattering out of reach. Through clinched teeth, Snape pleaded, "Master, – I – could – not – have – told." Harry wondered how it was possible for anyone to do anything other than scream while enduring the Cruciatus Curse. Jumping down the last few steps, Harry brushed past Snape toward Voldemort, but Snape caught his hem and whispered hoarsely, "Leave me – my pride." Harry stopped, looking down at Snape who continued to writhe excruciatingly.

Voldemort lifted his wand. Snape labored to his feet. "You withstand pain remarkably well," Voldemort snarled. "I'm impressed. _Accio wand!" _Snape's wand flew off the floor and through the air into Voldemort's open hand. "Perhaps a dementor will be better at convincing you?"

The dementor floated over to Snape and hovered above him. Snape's face twitched. The golden mists condensed around him, swirling fast. The dementor leaned in closer, almost within kissing distance. Minutes passed and as the cold deepened, Snape started talking, his voice hollow. "I don't want . . . Don't make me . . . don't like . . . want to stop . . . No. I don't want to . . . I don't want to . . . Let me go . . . Make it stop, make it stop . . ." Snape screamed. "No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to . . ." Shaking uncontrollably, Snape sank to his knees. "It's all my fault, all my fault," he sobbed. "Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again . . ." Snape's hand was flailing above him as he cowered lower.

Harry stared at Snape with his mouth open, shaking not only from the nearness of the dementor, but from recognition of the words.

"Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead . . ." Snape fell forward screaming, banging his fists on the stone floor. "Please, please, please, no . . . not that, not that, I'll do anything . . ."

Harry couldn't listen anymore. He knew what the next words would be, what they pertained to, and felt the pain behind them. He could not stand to hear them echo through the stone room. He could not watch even Snape suffer like this. The dementor was leaning in closer about to give the kiss.

"Stop! Stop! I'll tell you what you want to know. Dumbledore figured out the horcruxes on his own. He didn't need Snape to tell him."

Voldemort sent a silver wisp out of his wand and the dementor backed off, lingering nearby.

"Tell the truth. Have you destroyed my horcruxes?" His voice was cold and steady, but Harry could feel the fear.

Snape coughed and struggled to stand. "Choose . . . carefully," he whispered.

Harry suddenly understood about selective truth. He could say 'no.' It was the truth and Voldemort would believe him. But the adrenaline, and edge of fear in Voldemort's tone emboldened him. Besides, if he told the whole truth, Voldemort would not kill him – yet. He could, perhaps buy time for them all. More importantly, the others would know what he now knew and what needed to be done. Harry knew how it had to end. It was his only chance.

"I destroyed the diary, as you already know. Dumbledore destroyed Morfin's ring. The Slytherin locket and Hufflepuff cup have also been . . ." Harry couldn't finish. Voldemort's outraged growl filled the chamber. Harry grabbed his head to keep it from exploding. Something wet and hot oozed from his scar, running into his eyes. He blinked rapidly. He hadn't finished! He couldn't die! Not yet! He had to tell someone before he died! There was barely any breath left in him to squeeze the next words out. "The next horcrux is . . . Unky Peetpet."

What happened next Harry perceived as if through a strobe light. Wormtail, pain dancing in his own eyes, swung to look at Harry. Thus distracted, Neville yanked his wand away and fired a jet at Voldemort, grazing his shoulder. Snape jumped onto the dais and sprinted toward them. Voldemort swivelled, raising his own wand and Harry knew Neville was about to die.

Harry locked eyes with Wormtail and yelled, "UNKY PEETPET!" as Voldemort shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!" _sending a green jet of light toward Neville. Wormtail stuck his silver hand out in front of Neville and the curse ricocheted off. He then shoved Neville behind him as Voldemort sent another death curse, this one hitting Wormtail directly in his chest.

Harry doubled over as the searing pain increased beyond measure. There were loud bangs and flashing lights. Harry did know if they were inside or outside his head. With bleary eyes, Harry saw Wormtail slump sideways, pinning Neville beneath him.

Harry discerned that at least some of the bangs and shouts were coming from above. Harry wrested his head toward the noise. Framed in the doorway was a silhouetted shape that could only be Dumbledore. Voldemort and Snape also stared, dumbfounded, at the towering figure and the others surging in around him.

Streaks of light zoomed through the room and disappeared into the curtain behind Voldemort. A silver otter torpedoed toward the dementor that was speeding toward Snape, lights flicking before it, like sunlight on a mighty river's current.

Harry crawled up onto the dais and struggled to his feet, knowing that even if it was really Dumbledore, it didn't change anything. With each pounding beat in his head he heard, '_neither can live, neither can live . . .' _as he blindly propelled himself past Neville and Wormtail toward Voldemort. Harry knew what he had to do.

There were only two pieces of Voldemort left now, Voldemort and himself. Harry had said it in his second year and Dumbledore had confirmed it. He would destroy them both at once. Snape was the only thing between Harry and Voldemort and the veil. Preoccupied with ducking an array of red and green jets, they were oblivious to him. Despite his agony, Harry smiled. _I'll take them both with me. It will all be over in a moment. . . . Just one second more . . ._

It was Ginny's cry of despair among a chorus of _"NO!"_ that slowed his forward rush. Harry hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as fear gripped him. Was Ginny hurt? In pain? In that brief second, Snape twisted around, knocking him roughly, sending him sprawling.

--------

Harry laid at the base of the dais. He did not know if he was dead or alive, only that the pain had suddenly ceased. The swirling golden mist swimming around him was slowly drifting into shapes. His mum lifted him and gently rocked him, her long red hair brushing against his face. His dad condensed on his other side holding his hand. Nearby he clearly saw an older couple leaning over a shadowy indistinct form he thought was Neville.

_Is he okay? _Harry thought.

_Yes, _his Dad answered.

A shadow crossed his thoughts. _And Ginny?_

_She's fine_, his Mum smiled.

_Then why?_

_Because she, we, realized what you were about to do. We did not want you to die. There was no need. _

_No need! I have to die, otherwise Voldemort can't be killed! Dumbledore said . . . _

The glowing familiar face of Dumbledore leaned in toward him his eyes twinkling. _You did it Harry. You, your friends and Snape. It's over. _

_So. . . , so I'm dead, then. And Voldemort's dead! Good!_ Then he frowned, trying to remember. _Was it you? I saw you in the doorway. You're still alive? _

_No, it wasn't, and no, I'm not alive, I'm still good and dead. Funny though, the illusion between life and death. If we only understood we would realize, there's only a breath's difference. _

_Is it really the next great adventure?_

_More so than you can ever imagine. But life is also a great adventure, and Harry, you are still very much alive. _

_Marry Ginny -- I see you like red-hair as much as I do, _his Dad smiled at him. _Live life to its fullest. _

_We'd love to see you romping with your children, your grandchildren, doing all the things we missed, _his Mum added.

_But my scar. It's the last . . . if I'm still alive, then Voldemort isn't completely destroyed!_

_No, but the only piece of him left, is in you, Harry, and I trust that now that you know, it will be no more of a burden for you than it was before. None of us can exorcize the evil in us and still be human any more than Voldemort could abolished the good and remain human. Do you remember our discussion at the end of your second year?_

_Yes, you said that Voldemort transferred some of his powers to me when he gave me the scar, put a bit of himself in me. You . . . you knew all along._

_I only suspected . . . that there was something special about that scar when I first held you as a baby. What else did we talk about?_

_That it's our choices that determine what we truly are._

_Precisely, _Dumbledore smiled, pleased. _I told you once how remarkable you are. I always trusted your choices. Others though, who are not as pure hearted, apparently were affected by the contaminated residue Voldemort seems to have left on everything he inhabited -- no matter for how short of time. Until Voldemort's 'history lesson' I had no idea that both portions of his soul left him at once and, it appears, passed through your mum's ring, as the intended horcrux, before being deflected into you and Pettigrew. I, perhaps, might have guessed at Pettigrew, if I had known then, that Sirius was innocent. But alas -- hindsight is twenty-twenty. I never knew that your aunt even had the rings, much less that she would be affected by wearing one, though I often wondered where the pleasant teen I once met had gone. Mmm, Percy did keep Pettigrew as a pet for ten years didn't he? That could explain his uncharacteristic ambition . . ._

_Ron had Scabbers for two and a half years. _Harry remembered Luna's comment that Ron could be unkind sometimes. He also recognized his own temper and anger in his fifth year when Voldemort was influencing him.

_Yes, . . . but he also had you. Harry, you are extraordinary. I have no fear that you can continue to live with your scar and make the correct choices. One day Voldemort will die completely when your time is up. In the meantime, go back to your life and enjoy! _Dumbledore smiled. _Now, if you'll excuse us, there are others that need attending to. James, Lily. _

His parents disengaged themselves from him. _We love you. Be happy. _They drifted over to a column of mist forming itself into Wormtail, while Dumbledore moved toward another shape that was slowing becoming Snape.

Dumbledore greeted him heartedly, _Thank you, thank you! You did all that I asked, and more. _Snape had a puzzled frown on his face. Dumbledore laughed and pulled him into an embrace_. Don't worry. There is only forgiveness here. You'll learn soon enough that the things people think matter the most in life are not what matter in death. _Dumbledore pointed across the room where Wormtail was being warmly greeted by Lily and James. Harry saw his parents look up and smile across the room at Snape.

Harry sputtered, _But, I was about to tackle Voldemort and take him though the veil with me. Snape knocked me off the dais and saved Voldemort! He murdered you! I saw the hate and revulsion on his face._

_Harry, remember how you felt when you fulfilled your promise to me and forced me to drink the poison? _Dumbledore asked while still embracing Snape.

_Yes?_

_You had the same look on your face. And the words I spoke . . ._

_I know. They were Snape's as he watched Voldemort kill my parents._

_Yes, _Dumbledore said. _Snape had come to warn me, but Voldemort acted quickly. We were too late to save your parents. I did what I could. I warned the Longbottoms and because Severus was watching I was able to dispatch Hagrid to rescue you before any of the Death Eaters knew what had happened. I lived a long life, but my worst memory was not one of my own, but that of witnessing the suffering of another, of Severus here. And it was Severus who tumbled through the veil with Voldemort in your stead._

_But . . . but he is . . . Snape! He is, . . . was, . . . mean. It wasn't just me he loathed! He picked on Hermione, Neville and many others! _

_It is not for you to judge my life and how I chose to live it! I had my reasons, _Snape replied, _but more importantly for you, it was also my job, as you once succinctly put it. Otherwise, the Dark Lord would have known. You made it very easy, though. You, at least, gave me plenty of cause. So like your father. And, I felt and detested the Dark Lord within you. _

"_You will never thank me, but I will never ask or require your forgiveness . . ." _

_----------_

Harry did not know what else was said for suddenly there was an intense, painful pounding in the back of his head and something wet dripping on his face. The mist of faces and voices dispersed, and he found himself looking up into Ginny's tear-filled eyes. Beside her, he saw Hermione and Ron's white, scared faces.

"Bloody hell, Harry. We were afraid you were dead. Are you okay?"

"Not really, but I'll live. My head hurts." He heard Neville moan and glanced worriedly over to where Luna was kneeling beside him. To his surprise, Neville was rubbing his shoulder and smiling. His voice was weak, but he spoke eagerly.

"Hey Harry, wasn't that something? I got to talk to my mum and dad. They died earlier when Voldemort attacked St. Mungo's. They said I should tell Gran to go jump in a lake if she doesn't like me being a herbologist. They said they were proud of me. Was that your mum and dad and Dumbledore talking to you?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled. Looking around, he realized how beat up and tired everyone was. "What happened?"

"We won, Harry. It's over. Snape tackled Voldemort and together they fell through the veil," Hermione answered. "At Hogwarts, our side was rounding up the last of the Death Eaters out of the Forbidden Forest when we left."

"This quickly? It can't be over."

"You upset you missed it?" Ron asked. They were all smiling down at him.

"But how?"

"You remember Hogwart's school motto?" Ginny asked laughing.

Harry gazed at them with a puzzled expression. He knew he had heard it before, something about a dragon, but he couldn't quite remember with his head pounding so. "No," he finally admitted. "What is it?"

They answered in unison, giggling, "Never tickle a sleeping dragon!"

* * *

If you want to know more about the attack on the Longbottoms, please read my companion piece, Windows to the Soul.

Please review. As I said previously I am not as confident writing action scenes. Let me know how I can improve them. Thank you.


	20. Tickling the Sleeping Dragon

A/N: Okay this is the last chapter before the Epilogue. I want to again thank all those who reviewed and berate those that didn't. A review is the only thanks I will get for the time I spent writing this story for you.

* * *

**Tickling the Sleeping Dragon**

**--------**

"_**. . . he was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused to understand the incomparable power of a soul that is untarnished and whole." – Dumbledore, HBP p 511**_

_**Harry thought for one heart-stopping moment, that he saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue . . . –HBP p 645**_

"_**Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back!" –Dumbledore, HBP p 510**_

_**-------**_

Hermione caught the morning paper, unfolded it and held it up so that everyone could read the headline:

_**AUTHORITIES SEEK TO CONFIRM DEATH OF YOU-KNOW-WHO!**_

_**DEATH EATERS KILLED OR CAPTURED!**_

_**CASUALTY TOLL RISES AS THE SEARCH FOR MISSING FAMILY AND FRIENDS CONTINUES.**_

_Authorities are attempting to confirm several eye-witness reports that You-Know-Who, known to his followers as the Dark Lord, was forced by Severus Snape (see profile below) to tumble through an alleged death veil within the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic._

"Blimey," Ron interrupted Hermione's reading. "How many people have to see something happen, before they'll believe it's true? It wasn't just us. My dad and half of the Order was there when they fell through."

"They're just playing it safe," Hermione commented. "Now, if you don't mind . . ." she began reading where she left off.

_If reports prove true, it will be the end of a nightmare that reached its terrible zenith last night, when You-Know-Who, in an unprecedented brutal attempt to take over the Wizarding world, released his forces simultaneously on Gringotts Wizarding Bank and Diagon Alley, the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies & Injuries, and the house of Harry Potter's Muggle family at Number Four Privet Drive. _

_No one questions why he chose to attack our commercial, financial and political centers. However, the attack on St. Mungo's can only be considered an extreme act of cruelty on a defenseless institution, undertaken to demoralize the Wizarding community and to deny our wounded care and comfort. In essence, an attack on our heart. Likewise, the attack on Harry Potter's Muggle family, can only be construed as either a trap or a decoy intended for the Boy-Who-Lived. _

_However, it was You-Know-Who and his followers, not Harry Potter, who fell into a trap. A clever trap, that proved irresistible, set by mere schoolchildren, our own sons and daughters, in a desperate effort to save and secure their futures. _

_With battles raging, and reports of victory at every hand, You-Know-Who further divided his forces, giving the opposition a chance to regroup and repel his advances in each arena. He did so in order to launch an attack on a group of supposedly helpless students and professors at Hogwarts, the stronghold of his late nemesis, Albus Dumbledore. _

_With the initial advance on Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the trolls retreated to secure the lower tunnels, leaving the first floor lobby easily taken. From that vantage point the Death Eaters waged a two-prong offensive: First to drive the trolls further back into the tunnels and second, to surge forth and take control of Diagon Alley with its unprepared flock of early summer holiday shoppers. _

_Most shoppers simply fled. However, the Weasley brothers, Fred and George, proprietors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, quickly organized a resistance, and handing out specialty merchandise from their shop began seriously pestering the Death Eaters with gadgets, powders and other sundries of limitless variety and surprising abilities._

_As Fred Weasley put it, "We were having a blast! I don't know when I've had so much fun!" _

_As a captured Death Eater described it, "We had no idea what was coming at us and how to stop it. We were like sitting ducks." (For a complete report of the "Battle For Gringotts and Diagon Alley," turn to pages 7 and 8.)_

_The Weasley brothers were not the only members of the renowned Weasley family instrumental in defeating You-Know-Who's forces. We owe the survival of the Ministry of Magic to the courage of Arthur Weasley, __patriarch of the Weasley family_, and a member of the secretive Order of the Phoenix. (For more on the Order, please turn to the sidebar on page 6, "Separating Fact from Fiction: Exploring the Myth of the Phoenix.")

_It seems when the going got rough, Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, was no where to be found and it was left to Mr.Weasley to defend our seat of government. Though, You-Know-Who quickly gained control of the top floors, and proclaimed victory, deep in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, Arthur Weasley lead the Order in a fight to steadily reclaim the Ministry, hall by brutal hall. (See full report on the "Saving of the Ministry of Magic" on pages 5 and 6.)_

_Defenseless as St. Mungo's was, the healers and patients did not simply lie down and die. The compassion and heroics displayed by those that could, to save those that could not, will go down in Wizard history as some of the greatest deeds of all time. Amazing, even among the many other feats of bravery and sacrifice, is the story of how Alice and Frank Longbottom, though severely compromised in their mental capacity during the first war against You-Know-Who, saved their entire ward. A short synopsis can not due it justice. (For theirs and three other individual tales of immense compassion and courage, please see "Beyond Heroes" on pages 9,10, and 11.)_

_If there's one thing that stops our hearts, it is the thought of our innocent and vulnerable children confronting an evil such as You-Know-Who. Yet that is exactly what . . . _

_Continued on page 2._

Herminone went to flip the page. "Wait," Harry said. "Read Snape's profile first. It's by Rita. She came to see me and I want to know if she quoted me correctly."

Hermione folded the paper in half and began reading:

_**SEVERUS SNAPE FAMOUS OR INFAMOUS? **_

_There have been multiple, heated debates as to who is the greatest wizard of our age. Many would give the title to You-Know-Who. No one can match his evil and knowledge of the Dark Arts, and assuredly, no one before him, and hopefully no one ever again, will equal the great and terrible things he has done. He even conquered death, at least for a time. _

_Others, whose definition of great includes a measure of the man and not just his abilities, would award the title to Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard that You-Know-Who was known to fear. _

_Some are ready to grant it to young Harry Potter who survived You-Know-Who's attempts to kill him on six separate occasions. I, however, submit for your consideration another name: Severus Snape. _

_In an interview at St. Mungo's with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived admits that it was Severus Snape, not him, who tackled You-Know-Who, thus causing them both to tumble through a veil that supposedly separates our world from the world of the dead. _

_It is also Harry Potter's eye-witness testimony that Severus Snape used the killing curse on Albus Dumbledore the previous year. What are we to make of this? Was it Mr. Snape's intention to cleverly play both sides until he had his chance to make a bizarre bid for the title of Greatest Wizard that Ever Lived? Everyone who knew him readily confirms that Mr. Snape was ambitious, clever and craved recognition. _

_Severus Snape was the only child of Eileen Prince, a witch from an old venerable family that had fallen on hard times. She worked for a while at The Apothecary in her early twenties, but allegedly, quickly fell in with some of the seedier characters of the Wizarding world. _

_At age 28 she married a Muggle named Tobias Snape, Severus Snape's father, though there was a rumor that she was already pregnant, so actual paternity is not confirmed. Tobias Snape further fostered his wife's preference for the underside of life, and with her help, successfully plagued the Muggle world with petty theft in defiance of Wizard law. There were also a number of incidences of alleged domestic abuse cited in his record though charges were never filed._

_Severus Snape, following in his parents' footsteps, was arrested as a juvenile delinquent when he was only nine and sent to reform school. Apparently, when he turned eleven, Prof. Dumbledore convinced the Muggle courts to release Severus Snape into his custody, over the objection of many notable families with children attending Hogwarts. _

_At age thirteen, he was orphaned when a domestic dispute ended in murder suicide. Those that knew him in school say he was an intense, unpopular boy fascinated with the Dark Arts. _

_Soon after leaving Hogwarts he became a Death Eater, but according to an anonymous member of the Order of the Phoenix, Prof. Dumbledore's resistance group, a short time later, he approached Prof. Dumbledore asking for help in deserting. Prof. Dumbledore, apparently not quite sure of Mr. Snape's propensities, insisted that he prove his loyalty by becoming a spy for the Order. It is not known if he was acting as a double agent at that time. Apparently, though, Prof. Dumbledore was satisfied, because after You-Know-Who's disappearance, he hired Mr. Snape as the Potions professor at Hogwarts. _

_When You-Know-Who resurfaced, it was common knowledge among many wizards that Mr. Snape acted as a double agent, spying for both sides, evidently able to convince both You-Know-Who and Prof. Dumbledore that he was loyal to only them. _

_Death Eaters hearing the news of Mr. Snape's betrayal are shocked, saying that he was the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor, though they admit he was the only one who ever dared defy the Dark Lord, and some of them doubted his allegiance. _

_Friends of Albus Dumbledore say that the professor always insisted that he trusted Mr. Snape, though refused to state on what grounds. Generally, Mr. Snape was disliked, but tolerated, on Prof. Dumbledore's say so, until he was accused by Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived of murdering Prof. Dumbledore and branded a traitor. _

_If you ask Harry Potter who the greatest wizard is, it is an unequivocal Albus Dumbledore. When asked what he thinks of Mr. Snape, this was his candid reply, "I don't honestly know. We mutually disliked each other, a definite personality clash, but it is much more complicated than that. Snape had a history with my mum and dad. . . . And there is a question now if Dumbledore's death was actually murder or self-sacrifice for a greater good – to instill a protection beyond his own immense power and skill to Hogwarts."_

_This scenario is heightened by the many varied eye-witnesses who claim that they actually saw Prof. Dumbledore during the battle at Hogwarts. When Harry is asked what he thinks of that, he simply shrugs, "I wasn't there very long,"_ (Editor's Note: This statement is contradicted by many eye-witnesses who say that Harry Potter was 'everywhere.') _"but I'm not surprised. As long as there are people loyal to Dumbledore he will never be gone."_

_On the question of Severus Snape, Harry adds, "I do not know what was in Snape's heart. I can only confirm that he deserves the credit for ridding the world of _(Editor's Note: He used You-Know-Who's real name!), _and, in doing so, saved my life and perhaps yours as well. At the very least, we must thank him for that. Snape was clever, intelligent -- well versed in the Dark Arts and a talented Potions Master -- and a complicated wizard. I think history will look on him as a hero whether his motives were altruistic or not. Any more than that, is pure speculation."_

_Then he added this rather obtuse afterthought, "I am forced to admit that Dumbledore always trusted him and Dumbledore has immense knowledge, excellent instincts and my full respect. Eventually, I hope, that will be sufficient for me." _

_From this reporter's point of view the question remains: Which side was Mr. Snape really on, or was he ultimately only working for his own glory? And for a wizard who killed two and saved one of his competitors for the title of 'Greatest Wizard of Our Age,' does it matter? Does he not deserve the title by default? You, my dear readers, will have to decide for yourself and for the ages._

"Imagine anyone comparing those two toerags to Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yeah, I know. But speaking of Dumbledore, can anyone explain to me what was really going on? I briefly saw him too. In the doorway of the Death Chamber. But before and after that, he was dead and talking to me, and when I asked him, his reply was more riddle than answer."

Ginny blushed, "That's about right . . ."

"It was Ginny," Hermione interrupted.

"Actually, if I had to pick, I'd say it was Dumbledore. I mean, I drank the _Polyjuice_, but the things I did, I didn't know how to do them." Ginny studied her feet, dangling over the edge of Harry's bed, before continuing. "The way I felt . . . it wasn't like being possessed, I was still me, yet Dumbledore was with me."

"Wait! You're making my head ache." Harry gingerly touched his bandages. "Why don't you start somewhere near the beginning."

"Well, I already told you some of it, so I'll start after you left us," Hermione said.

"You make it sound as if I left on purpose."

"Do you want to hear what happened or not?"

"Okay. Okay I'll shut up." Harry leaned back in his bed.

"Neville was the first to notice that you had sidetracked from our group. He went running back to get you. When he didn't return right away, I figured something was up and I had my troops spread out and double back. That's when we saw Voldemort. I was running toward you, when you and Neville disappeared. You should have seen him! He went ballistic! He was a screaming madman, shouting for his Death Eaters, stabbing at his arm with his wand. I guess that's how he makes the mark burn.

"I quickly ducked out of sight. Eventually a battered group of Death Eaters came crashing out of the forest, running right through the fire! I looked for Snape, but didn't see him. It seemed unwise to confront Voldemort just then, and we figured Ginny and her group would be okay for a while if the Death Eaters that had been fighting her were now with Voldemort. Besides the fire was spreading and blocking our way, and we saw Hagrid and his group moving into position on the other side.

"So I decided we should join forces with those inside Hogwarts. When we got to the front door, Crookshanks was there and led us through a side passage. To make a long story a little shorter, the Death Eaters were retreating, having been called by Voldemort, and we ended up boxing them in. Their only option was down the passageway to the Slytherin common room." Hermione stopped for a breath and Ron took over.

"You should have been there Harry! We were popping up everywhere! Blam! Kapowee! This one shot of mine ricocheted off . . ."

Hermione cut him short, "If you're going to give him a blow by blow account, it will take forever. You can do that later." Harry noticed that though she sounded impatient, her eyes were glowing with pride.

"Blimey, you take the fun out of everything," Ron laughed. "Okay, then, where were we? Oh yeah." Ron ran his hand over his face, emerging with a mock serious expression. "We didn't trust Slytherin one little bit and we feared the worst when they gained entry to their common room.

"You should have heard McGonagall yelling bloody murder when it refused to open for her!

"We were worried they would overpower Slughorn, with the help of some of the less honorable students, and escape – especially if one of them knew about the house elf's back passageway. At the very least, we were afraid of a long, drawn out siege. Turns out, the passageway was useful, but not as we feared.

"Slughorn, with a majority of the Slytherin house had secured control of their common room early on, and when they heard the commotion in the hallway, were preparing to join us. That's when a group of elves entered through the back door and suggested that a trap might be safer and more effective.

"When the Death Eaters begged entrance, the Slytherins complied and then showed them the passageway the elves had just revealed to them. They eagerly ran down it, thinking to escape.

"Well, did you know that the elves can seal off those passageways, just like that, if they want to?!" Ron snapped his fingers and laughed. "Well, with nowhere to go, they quickly surrendered, laid down their wands and we tied them up.

"We were still wrapping up, so to speak, when a Patronus, a raven, flew in and dropped a message into McGonagall's hand. The message read: 'Harry is wandless and in the Chamber of Death. Voldemort is leaving to search for him. I will accompany him and do what I can to delay him. You must go immediately and take Harry, and those with him, to Headquarters where Voldemort cannot find them. Do not worry about the students or Hogwarts. They are under Dumbledore's protection.'

"It was from Snape. Well, bloody hell, I thought. Talk about traps! Can Snape actually expect us to trust him? McGonagall recalled that Snape had used that Patronus when he was young, but when he joined the Order had switched to a bigger, fancier, predator bird that Dumbledore told her was called a Secretary Bird. Dumbledore had once said that as long as Snape's Patronus was the Secretary Bird, she could trust him. Well, it wasn't, and none of us had cause to trust Snape anyhow, so we ignored his directive. Sorry, mate." Ron glanced at Harry. "Instead we took our combined forces and I led them out through a passageway that exited in back, and into the forest to circle round and find Ginny."

Ginny took up the tale. "Our part of the plan was working perfectly, we thought. We hadn't anticipated the setting of the fires, but Grawp was getting them under control and they seemed a minor hindrance. We led the Death Eaters deep into the forest. The centaurs, though reluctant, had joined Firenze, and my friend Jupac, and some of the other yearlings in defending their part of the forest. The merpeople had promised that no Death Eaters would escape by way of the lake. The acromantulas soon were feasting, and still the Death Eaters followed us ever deeper into the woods until they were surely lost.

"We had our escape at our backs and were preparing to make a stand when Voldemort called them back to him. That's when we realized the smoke from the fires had foiled us. It had inhibited the centaurs from moving in behind the Death Eaters to cut off their retreat, plus they knew which way to go to find their way back out to Voldemort. It all began to fall apart.

"When Voldemort ordered his Death Eaters back into the forest to defeat us, I decided to drink the _Polyjuice Potion _and turn into Dumbledore. You can't believe the power, wisdom and sadness I felt. I can't describe it. Without knowing why I exchanged his wand for mine – I found it last summer. Then I only had to think of what I wanted and it came to pass. I felt like the conductor of a great cosmic orchestra. Waters rose from the lake and doused the fire. My troops rallied, and we quickly surrounded the Death Eaters. Those that tried to escape by the lake the merpeople captured. We met up with Ron and McGonagall's group and marched triumphantly out of the forest through the smoldering trees."

"That's where we encountered more Death Eaters." Ron added. "All of his followers who had been at the Ministry, Gringotts or St. Mungo's had converged on Hogsmeade at his bidding and were running through the open gates. Worse, as soon as we cleared the trees, we saw a group of dementors descending!"

"Those of us who knew how, sent out Patronuses," Hermione interjected. "But there were too many. The sky was full of them, blocking out the moon and stars. We were engaged in a raging battle with the bulk of Voldemort's force. We were fast losing hope. Some of us were injured, perhaps dying."

"I briefly succumbed to fear. I was afraid that I had led us all to our doom," Ginny said. "But . . . but, it's hard to explain. . . . A calm anger enveloped me and I raised Dumbledore's wand into the air and bellowed. I swear I was Dumbledore! I certainly wasn't myself! A rumble started behind me and began building. The students were chanting, 'Dumbledore, Dumbledore' over and over again."

"The centaurs, a herd of unicorns and some other creatures I've never even seen before melted out of the forest and filled in our ranks. Side by side, we surged forward. Blimey, Harry, you should have seen us!" Ron was jumping around flailing his arms like he was sending spell after spell flying.

"It was then that we heard the phoenix songs. There were two of them, Fawkes and a silver-blue one," Ginny said. "They came from over by Dumbledore's tomb and flew across the sky again and again weaving a dome of gold and silver threads, seemingly out of pure song. The dementors kept coming, but as they passed through the dome, one by one they dissipated as if they were made of nothing more than smog and nightmares."

"Then a gale wind blew in. It swirled the smoke from the fires over our heads – I swear it looked just like a humongous dragon, Harry!" Hermione's eyes were glowing with wonder.

"This cloud . . . this dragon ripped up the smoulding trees and dumped them on the Death Eaters. Its huge tail swept over the lake causing it to tidal wave over its bank and flood them. After that, it was just a matter of rounding up any survivors." Ron plopped down on the foot of Harry's bed. "It was really something, Harry!"

"And I finally had a chance to ask after you," Ginny concluded.

"We told her about your disappearance . . ." Hermione began.

". . . and about Snape's Patronus," Ron finished.

"I knew immediately that you were in grave danger. I knew what Dumbledore felt, that the part of him that was a part of me, still trusted Snape completely and was scared for you. We got to the Ministry and met Dad and the Order running out while we were running in." Ginny's eye filled with tears and her voice tightened. "You know the rest." Ginny lowered her eyes, then raised them and searched Harry's face as if she needed to memorize it. "We almost lost you."

Harry broke the uncomfortable silence with a laugh. "Hey, don't be so serious. I'm still here. It was Snape who went through, not me. And no one is going to miss Snape.

Ginny reached for his hand. "Harry, I don't know if I can explain this adequately. I never before understood exactly what was meant by unconditional love, though I thought I did. The depth of Dumbledore's love for you was unfathomable, even to me. But the funny thing is, he loved Snape too. Not exactly the same, but unconditionally."

* * *

Next up: the Epilogue and the answers to any remaining questions, except for the ones I've hinted at, but decided to leave unanswered. Every story needs a bit of mystery. 


	21. Epilogue: Dumbledore's Triumph

A/N: I want to remind everyone that this whole story was written prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I did not know anything that was revealed in that book, so, of course, my story is consistent only up through book six. (Nor did I know any post publication pronouncements.) What you have been waiting on all this time was for me to do a simple re-edit. Sorry, I took so long but I always found something to reword though I did not change any major points. And, at last, the ending is here and I hope the wait was worth it. Enjoy.

Oh, and this is my last plea—please, please let me know what you think! Also, I have a question for you: I gave this story a "T" rating because of the mature themes and a few (very few) words. Does it deserve that rating or can I lower it and perhaps increase my readership?

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**EPILOGUE: Dumbledore's Triumph**

**---------**

"_**Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy." – Dumbledore, SS p 15**_

"_**He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse." – Dumbledore OotP p 842**_

"_**Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike . . . We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward." – Dumbledore OotP p 834**_

"_**I am not worried . . . I am with you." – Dumbledore, HBP p 578**_

_**It was important, Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated. . . . –HBP p 645**_

_**For a fleeting instant, Harry thought he saw a gleam of something like triumph in Dumbledore's eye. –GoF p 696**_

**------------**

Harry flipped the page. "There is only the Epilogue left. Would you like to hear that too?"

"Of course."

Harry began reading,

---------

_It has now been twenty years since the passing of Voldemort. We are in an unprecedented time of peace. In order to better understand the past, and thus preserve this peace, Luna Lovegood, celebrated author and investigative reporter, and Hermione Granger Weasley, in her capacity as Minister of Magic, compiled this report as an addendum to the official Harry Potter biography. Our years of research, gleaned from intensive interviews, Pensieve views of memories and Memorias Affecti, provide an unprecedented opportunity to understand the "why" of what happened. _

_The Memorias Affecti were particularly helpful in that, unlike the Pensieve which gives us an unbiased view of a memory, a Memoria Affectus provides us with a memory from the perspective of the participant and allows us to view intent, and therefore, deduce cause and effect. We feel that this very valuable tool has the potential to remedy many of history's deficiencies. This is important because, as a famous Muggle named George Santayana once put it, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."_

_We therefore thank you for your interest, attention and time. We hope that knowledge brings understanding and understanding, redress. Having thus graciously indulged us, we feel it is only considerate to bring you up to date on the fate of a few of the individuals._

_Petunia, Vernon and Dudley Dursley were taken from the Chamber of Death immediately to St. Mungo's. Petunia was released the next day. Vernon, however, was experiencing amnesia, presumably the result of some minor head trauma. The healers pronounced it easily cured, but Petunia refused all magical treatment on his behalf, saying that if he was in his right mind that would most definitely be his wish. She then had both Vernon and Dudley, who was in a coma, transferred to a Muggle hospital. _

_Ten days later, when the Muggle doctors said they couldn't do anything more for either of them, and suggested that Dudley be transferred to their long-term care facility, and that Vernon receive psychiatric care, she petitioned to have Dudley readmitted, realizing that St. Mungo's was far superior to any care facility she could afford. _

_With only meager savings, their home and possessions destroyed and no-where to go, Petunia and Vernon were allowed to remain with Dudley at St. Mungo's in family housing. This did not upset Vernon as one might expect -- in his condition he was incapable of detecting the magic around him. In fact, to this day, he is virtually unable to perceive magic even when it happens right under his nose. It is, as if for him, magic does not exist at all, and he is a much happier man for it. _

_Under the expert care of the healers at St. Mungo's, Dudley emerged from his coma after seventeen days, but remained bedridden for fifteen months, mainly due to his refusal of further magical treatment. Today, he uses a wheelchair to get around. _

_During Dudley's long hospital stay, Luna Lovegood and Susan Bones were regular visitors, and they all became good friends, with Petunia, particularly, referring to Luna affectionately as her daughter. When Dudley was released, and the Dursleys were again faced with the problem of where to live, Luna talked her father, Mr. Lovegood, into inviting them to stay at their home. Petunia willingly accepted the gracious offer. _

_Petunia, having been fascinated with the healers use of herbs, decided to pursue her interest by initiating correspondences with noted herbalists, medicine men, and shamans and by reading everything she could lay her hands on. She eventually became a noted Muggle herbalist in her own right. _

_Recently, she teamed up with Neville Longbottom, professor of Herbology at Hogwarts and famous rare plant collector, to collaborate on "Ecological Eden," a project to save rare and diverse ecological systems and to bring some of the more common, and less unusual, healing and beneficial herbs to the attention of the Muggle populace. _

_In March 2003, Dudley Dursley married Susan Bones, currently a master healer at St. Mungo's. By then he had become an accomplished graphic artist, working for Mr. Lovegood at the Quibbler doing illustrations. Though a Muggle, he still managed to master the art of magical animation. When Luna, who joined her father's staff as a reporter soon after her graduation from Hogwarts, published her renowned series, "Invisible Magical Beast and Their Hidden Habitats," Dudley did the now famous illustrations. They are currently working together on a series of sci-fi fantasy books for Muggle distribution._

_Luna Lovegood married Fred Weasley on September 13, 2013. Fred commented that he had long been fascinated with her, adding that she was just unusual enough to keep him interested. George remains a committed bachelor, and doting uncle._

_Scrimgeour was immediately dismissed, having deserted the Ministry in its most dire need. Arthur Weasley received well-deserved credit for saving the Ministry, and with his long record of steadfast service dutifully noted, was unanimously elected Minister of Magic. He proved an effective and popular leader. _

_An important footnote to this story is that five years into his term he got a call from the Department of Mysteries about a huge, black dog suddenly appearing in the Death Chamber. Arthur immediately went to investigate. To his astonishment he recognized Padfoot, aka Sirius Black. He told his personnel that he had received a memo about a tourist having lost their pet dog when they were there, and he quickly and quietly whisked Padfoot away. Because of his fast thinking, the incident did not even merit a report, and the return of Sirius will remain unknown, to all but a few, until the release of this book. _

_Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were married two months after Voldemort's downfall. Anyone who follows Quidditch is well aware of Ron's stellar career. Likewise, Hermione's is known to anyone interested in politics. _

_For those of you not as well versed in Wizard celebrities, Ron began his career during his last year at Hogwarts when he led the Gryffindor Quidditch team in an undefeated season. Drafted by the Chudley Cannons the next year, Ron took the team to the head of the League within two years and then to seven, unheralded World Cup victories. After an injury sidelined him, he was elected as head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports._

_Hermione continued her education by getting a Ph.D. in psychology at a Muggle University (to the bemused bewilderment of most of the Wizarding world). During that time she continued to be an avid activist, taking her fledgling organization SPEW worldwide. _

_In 2005 she joined the Ministry as Head of the Office of House-Elf Relocation and worked her way up to Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her tireless efforts pushed through an astonishing number of reforms under the watch, and with the support of, Arthur Weasley, Minister of Magic. _

_But, progress was still too slow, change too long in coming, to suit her, so when Arthur retired in 2016 she ran for Minister of Magic on a platform promising a complete overhaul of the system and won. Remus Lupin, who had been head of one of Hermione's first successes, the Werewolf Liaison Office, became head of the department when she left. Her legacy of reform continues. _

_Severus Snape, having been the one credited with actually destroying Voldemort, freed Harry Potter as he had never been free before. Harry reveling in this newfound freedom, decided to travel. For over three years, he traveled to every corner of the world, Ginny Weasley joining him whenever she was not in school, and Neville Longbottom on excursions to exotic and remote locations to collect rare plants. _

_But the plight of the many children whose parents were Voldemort's victims weighed heavily on him. With his wanderlust, if not satiated, at least temporarily satisfied, he returned to Britain, married Ginny, sold Grimmauld Place and with the money opened, "Dumbledore's Triumph: First Wizard Primary School and Orphanage for Disadvantaged Children" in Hogsmeade. _

_As Harry said at its opening: "The formative years are very important in determining the values a child embraces. If we do not want to create future Voldemorts, we must eliminate the conditions that formed him. _

"_Love, I have found, is the most crucial ingredient, and we offer an abundance of love and care at Dumbledore's Triumph. We accept all orphans with magical ancestry, no matter how far removed. We also search for Muggle children who demonstrate early magical ability. Our goal is to end the abuse and the ostracizing of children who are different from the norm. In that vein, we also accept children from intact families when we feel our environment will be more beneficial than the child's current environment. Age eleven, when our present school system begins, is simply too late for many children in troubled and ambiguous situations." _

_In further conversation, he confided that he hoped that no future magical child would have to grow up in a situation similar to Voldemort's, Snape's or his own. One guest remarked on the similarities of their childhoods, but noted how differently they had turned out and asked what he thought made the difference. Harry's response was, "I always knew my parents loved me. I never doubted it. I could feel it. My mum's love saved and protected me. It was always with me."_

_Sirius Black, preferring to live life as Padfoot, (he says after his time in the veil he is much more comfortable as a dog, besides, we all agree it is best if he remains incognito), is in charge of the pre-schoolers. Molly Weasley basically keeps the school running smoothly with the help of Dobby and Hagrid. Harry and Ginny, between them, have managed to convince almost everyone they know, from wizards to centaurs to giants, etc., to teach a workshop or give a lecture at their school. _

_Most days, one can find Harry busy telling stories to the children and taking them on field trips. Ginny, besides being mum to all, including their own three, teaches the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes at Hogwarts. _

_And we are certain, Dumbledore continues to watch over us all._

_---------_

Harry closed the book and glanced up at the portrait behind him. "What do you think?" Dumbledore, dabbing at his sopping eyes with a handkerchief, opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a "Humph!" from further down the wall.

"The last of my line living life as a dog and babysitting!" Phineas Nigellus guffawed. "What a disappointment."

"Quite the contrary," Harry replied. "Sirius told me he met you, as well as the rest of his ancestors, while he was behind the veil. He says only love survives there, and that even your critical temperament has mellowed. Apparently, when he was ready to return, you told him that you were very proud of him. It is a rare feat of great goodness and love to pass back through the veil."

"He can say what he wants, but that doesn't make it true," Phineas muttered.

"Ah, Phin, you know we are limited here by the extent of our knowledge at the time of our deaths, and the little we learn from hanging around. But you also must sense that your real essence exists elsewhere. We have just heard an amazing story. Do not bother to deny the obvious. Now, Harry, please tell Hermione and Luna that they did an excellent job, and far more interesting than Binns' dry retelling of history."

"Quite." Harry laughed. "In fact, now that she's finished the book, I've invited her to use her free time to revamp our history curriculum for next year. I'm still trying to convince her to come teach, but she says there is too much she still needs to do. Ginny, Neville and Hagrid are here already, and I've brought Arthur out of retirement to teach Muggle Studies for me.

"I'm only acting Headmaster while Minerva is on sabbatical so I don't have much time, and I need all the help I can get. I want to see if it is feasible to combine the two schools. If it works, I'd like to try to open it up to everyone. I think it may be too early for many of the younger children to stay overnight, but their parents could drop them off in the morning, and pick them up after classes if I can create a Floo station. My main problem is I want to include Squibs and even some Muggles because I feel that we all benefit from a diverse community. However, I don't think I can talk the board into that quite yet."

"Perhaps after Hermione pushes through a few more reforms. You have two years, and I'm sure Minerva will continue your efforts. Do you know why she took such a long sabbatical?" Dumbledore asked, suddenly looking somewhat dejected.

"I can tell you what Ginny and Hermione think. They think she needed to get away from you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, they say she always had a thing for you. They think twenty years of you looking over her shoulder is just too much. She needed to get a life. She's gone to Italy, the land of romance. They say they won't be surprised if she comes back married or at least with a new beau."

"Me?"

"Don't tell me you don't know! It's been obvious, Albus. I've known since the day I first saw you two together. And don't deny that you return her affection. We've all seen the way you look down at her when you think no one's watching," Dilys giggled.

"I don't . . . I never thought . . . you mean . . ." Dumbledore blushed. "You are imagining things. Of course, I'm very fond of Minerva. I miss her, but nothing more." Dumbledore cleared his throat and turned to Harry who was grinning up at him, "I think we were talking about Hermione and Luna's book. I have a few questions. Firstly, if Luna co-wrote this, does she know . . ."

"No. My aunt would not let Luna interview her, or Vernon, and she made Hermione promise that she wouldn't show her any of their memories. Hermione already planned, and promised Aunt Petunia, that the book would be included as part of her Ministry papers. I think they are legally sealed for something like 50 years after her death.

"We figure that will be long enough. There are just too many things that we'd rather not have as common knowledge just now." Harry unconsciously smoothed his hair over his scar. "Anyway, only Hermione interviewed my aunt and uncle. Good thing, too. She said she needed all of her training as a psychologist to pry through Vernon's amnesia – she thinks it is self-induced. She withheld certain parts of the draft when Luna proofed it. Besides, none of it confirms . . . you're the only one who knows . . ."

". . . and I will tell only one person, if that person was to ever ask. Tell me more about Memorias Affecti?"

"They're incredible. Neville discovered them. Made him famous. It's a plant. The person whose memory you want holds the bulb when the plant is blooming. Whoever wants to view the memory holds a tendril. Somehow this plant then transmits what the bulb holder was seeing, hearing, thinking and feeling at the time of the memory. We put it to great use in determining the motive, guilt, and later the effectiveness of our rehabilitation, of Voldemort's followers."

"Amazing! By the way, how is Neville doing?"

"Great! He's dating Gabrielle! You remember Fleur's younger sister? She got divorced a few years back and Neville seems completely smitten with her and her with him."

"Ahh," Dumbledore appeared about to say something more, but, out of the corner of his eye Harry caught Armando winking at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore blushed and changed the subject. "Ever learn what happened to Draco?"

"No. Nothing. Never heard anything more about him or his mum," Harry replied.

"Poor child. Did you find out how Snape knew that you had destroyed a horcrux?"

"No. I have no idea. What do you think?"

"When I destroyed the ring, I had to tell him it was a horcrux so that he would know what to do. I saw both the surprise and the comprehension in his eyes. I knew he wanted to tell me something, but he could not speak. So I carefully questioned him around the issue. It was a dance of verbal finesse, if I do say so myself. I eventually came to understand that he knew, at the time of your parents' death, that Voldemort had planned to make two horcruxes, but that he did not know that there were any more. I then told him about the diary and my theory. But that does not explain how he knew that another one had been destroyed."

"Uh hmm, I confess that I'm responsible." All eyes turned to Phineas.

"You, Phin?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes. Snape had a small picture of me that he confiscated from Grimmauld Place during clean-up. I had been privy to a number of Severus's and your conversations in this very room – as well the ones you had with young Harry here -- and often found myself agreeing with Severus. Sorry, Albus, Harry. So, of course, I knew of the plan and the promise you extracted from him and the necessity of destroying the horcruxes first.

"Though I am bound to serve whoever is the current headmaster and not to reveal anything I hear in this office, when Minerva asked me to keep an eye on Harry at Grimmauld Place, and Severus asked me to do the same thing, I did not see any conflict. I saw Harry retrieve the locket from Kreacher and later when I visited Mrs. Black, I saw that she had the locket and that it was open.

"Oh, by the way, I don't think I ever thanked you, Harry, for shutting her up. She really had a way of getting on my nerves. As to the locket, I figured Severus needed to know. After all, it was you Dumbledore, who charged him with keeping Voldemort and Harry apart until all of the horcruxes had been destroyed. How would he know if no one kept him informed?

"But the code of silence?" Armando questioned, as many of the other headmasters muttered among themselves.

"The stakes were high. He needed to know in order to keep his promise. I did not break the code."

"Hummf, Phineas, you know that is just a technicality. You drew a very fine line," Armando snorted. "I think we should discuss among ourselves exactly where we draw that line so that Harry and future headmasters know exactly what to expect of us. I am sure Minerva did not intend for you to divulge any information you gathered to anyone else." Again the other portraits grumbled. Dumbledore remained quiet, though a smirk played across his lips. His eyes swivelled back to Harry.

"Speaking of Severus, I have one more question. If I recall correctly, you pocketed some of his memories when you were in his office, but the book did not mention them again." The portraits quieted down, eager for Harry's answer.

Harry removed a small, plain, case from his cloak and opened it to reveal two glass vials of swirling silver smoke. "Hermione asked about them also. I told her I lost them. I think she saw through me, but was kind enough to drop it anyway. . . .

"Do you remember when Snape told me I was destined to exact from him what was most essential to him, and later when he demanded that I leave him his pride? I've thought often on what he may have meant. I'm convinced that he was never simply talking about the two books of his I had, though I'm sure he treasured them. I think now, that I represented all that he felt circumstance had stolen from him, starting with my aunt's love, and the fame, recognition and respect he craved.

"He felt he lost all chance of achieving his heart's desire when my parents were murdered and I became the Boy-Who-Lived and you left me with my aunt. Then I came to Hogwarts. Not only was I the spitting image of my father and had the feel of Voldemort about me, but he felt like he was losing your love when you ignored his advise, in favor of letting me learn from my own mistakes and displayed obvious affection for me.

"Then, hardest of all, he was forced to kill you, his only friend, the only person he respected and trusted, and knew, felt the same toward him. Finally, there was the knowledge that to keep his promise to you, to save me from my own foolishness, there was the possibility he would have to sacrifice himself for me.

"I think he probably removed these memories to keep them from Voldemort, and maybe even from you. I think they must be very personal, and after all I've done, it would be wrong of me to take these memories from him, simply to satisfy my curiosity. "

"I never rationed my love. There was always plenty for both. Only you . . ."

"I know."

"May I be bold enough as to ask, why do you carry them with you then?" Dumbledore leaned forward, and rested his arms on the frame of his picture.

"Because I wonder if they do not hold the answer to some questions that haunt me still. I've had twenty years to ponder everything that happened. It didn't take me long to figure out that it was probably Snape who made the Portkey that took us to the Ministry in an effort to save both me and my family.

"I only found out about Aunt Petunia and Snape a couple of years ago when Hermione interviewed her for the book. It explains some things, but there remains so much more that is obscured. Snape's motives intrigue and puzzle me. One of the questions maybe you can help me with? Snape told me that he had two ways to beat the unbreakable vow. One was Voldemort's way. Did he really have another way?

"No. Being a spy, defying Voldemort, Severus came to believe that he was intellectually stronger than most wizards, and in some ways he was. But he also discounted his emotions, priding himself in being above them. We both know how wrong he was in that respect.

"As you may or may not know there was no specific time limit included in the vow, something that most wizards unwisely forget to include. There is an ancient tale about a wizard that was able to beat an unbreakable vow by holding in himself the intention to fulfill the vow, but forever convincing himself that the time was just not right – therefore the vow remained in effect, but unfulfilled.

"Trouble is, as the story goes, he eventually went mad. Snape did not think that common human frailties applied to him. He thought he was stronger than that. I have no doubt he could have done it for a while, but it wears the soul out. Unlike a rip that can be mended, it is more like a hole in the cloth; the surrounding threads worn so thin and frail that there is no repair. I could not allow the possibility of such a hole in his soul."

"Another thing that troubles me about Snape." Harry absentmindedly rolled the vials between his palms in what was an obvious habitual motion. "If he was as perceptive as I now understand he typically was, then he should have known by my reaction, and by what I said, that Peter was the next to the last horcrux, and that I was the last. I suspect that he may have already guessed about me. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that his mark burned whenever he saw me, much like my scar did around Voldemort.

"Therefore, after Peter's death, the sensible thing for him to do was to let Voldemort and me fight it out, then kill the winner. He would have kept his promise to you, been the hero, and no one would question the necessity of my death in order to completely destroy Voldemort. It is exactly what I would have done if our places were switched. Everything I think I know about Snape says that's what he would have, should have, done."

"And yet, that is not what he chose to do." Harry glanced up at Dumbledore's bemused smile. "Severus was a flawed man, but he was my man," Dumbledore murmured.

"Was he? I understand that very few of us are at an extreme of the continuum like Voldemort was. The rest of us make our choices somewhere near the middle of the pendulum swing, often counterbalancing a good choice by following it with a bad decision. We all lack perfection, it is where our humanness resides."

Harry picked one vial off of his palm and held it between his thumb and index finger. Shaking it, he raised the agitated, swirling quicksilver to eye level. "So how do we increase the likelihood of good choices over bad? And even more troublesome, do we judge whether a person is ultimately good or bad based on his motives. What's in his heart? His deeds? One deed or the totality of his life? Do we even have a right to judge?"

The swirling fluid slowed to a leisurely roll. Harry replaced both tubes carefully in the padded case and snapped it closed. "And what of those that have evil in their hearts, but control their actions? Even with everything I now know from this book," Harry held the book aloft, "I am not completely convinced that Snape did it for you, my aunt, me, the world, or because it served the greater good. Not every circumstance was to his liking, but I believe Snape was always in control, always aware of the choices he was making and their consequences.

"The Snape I knew was not an act. He relished his role, every part of it. He took pride in knowing that he was feared, even despised, and that there was no other wizard capable of playing both sides. Self-sacrifice was not a quality, I believe, that was strong in him. Perhaps Rita had it right. I don't know. Twenty years have passed and every child knows his name and his deeds, but I still don't know what to say when one of my young wards picks up a stick, waves it around, and declares himself the Great Severus Snape.

Harry's hands tensed, as he spread his fingers flat against the desk. "I like to think that I am a better man than Snape was, but it was Snape who turned and deliberately pushed me aside. I, at that moment, despite my new comprehension of his role in my parents' death and your whispered warnings, had not slackened in my hate of him. In fact, with Peter's death, it flared ever stronger. I intended to take them both out with me, if I could. But Snape, for whatever reason, pushed me aside." Harry turned his hands over, his palms cupped.

Dumbledore broke the silence. "Harry, you are too hard on yourself. You were young and the power of Voldemort's anger inside you at that instant . . ." The hard look in Harry's eyes stopped Dumbledore from finishing. Instead he asked, "How are you, Harry? Really? I always knew . . . trusted . . . you are special. Still, it is much to ask. The scar . . ."

"Oh it can be disconcerting knowing that I am capable of such great evil. But we all have the capacity, do we not? I am only unique in that a part of the evil in me was once a part of Voldemort."

Harry laughed suddenly, light and easy. "Did I tell you that Voldemort occasionally haunts Hogwarts. He's not even a ghost, something less than a ghost, just a pair of snake eyes and a damp, musky smell. But he hasn't moved on. Can't, I suppose, til I die, but even then, he may be too afraid of death. Sirius said, when he returned, that you, in particular, were trying to teach him love, but that there is so little of his soul left that it will take a very long time. He said that you commented that without my blood in him and a piece of his soul in me, you would have little hope of ever succeeding.

"Anyway, these snake eyes, they search me out. He pesters me and tries to tempt me or get me to despair. He thinks when I die, that he will get a his horcrux back, and he will be powerful enough to pass through the veil. He knows he's not actually dead yet, and I don't think he realizes that when he killed Peter, he killed his only other horcrux, and that when I die, he will die also. Sirius has explained that only love can make the journey back through the veil. But, here's the funny part," Harry laughed. "Do you know what the little children call him when they see him? 'Old Moldy Voldy!'"

The room roared with laughter. Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his wet, glowing eyes reflecting the candles' flicker. "I'm not surprised. I never doubted you. So you do not worry?"

Harry pursed his lips, folding and unfolding his hands, until they also came to rest in a steeple. "Remember when you told me that you were not worried because you were with me? Well you, my mum, my dad, everyone I love or has ever loved me, are always with me -- comprise the biggest part of me." Harry smiled again, his green eyes dancing, "and I've got Ginny, Padfoot and the kids to keep me in line, just to mention a few. . . . Voldemort is no more than a memory. And this, that was once his, is no longer his. I have accepted it as a part of me. It is even starting to fade."

Harry lightly brushed his fingertips across his scar.

THE END

* * *

Thank you everyone for sticking with me and especially to those that posted a review. I thoroughly enjoyed writing and sharing this tale with you. I hope that it was a delightful read and that you will recommend it to your friends. 

If you still have anything you want me to explain (one loses details when waiting for a story to be finished), IM me and I will do my best.

A special thank you to my SugarQuill beta-reader, PirateQueen for all of her help, and to this website for providing an additional place to post it, and, of course, to JKR for her fantastic story and for allowing her fans to romp with her characters.

Love, Peace & Gratitude,

Moon Goddess Queen


End file.
